


Vocal Training

by glow_in_the_dark



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Heavy BDSM, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glow_in_the_dark/pseuds/glow_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John helps Sherlock investigate a case at a BDSM club. They two go under the disguise of a Dom/sub couple with John as the Dom. Unexpectantly, Sherlock can't cope with all the sexual data going on around him and John has to find a way to keep his detective focussed enough to concentrate on the case. </p><p>Not all warnings are tagged, so please play specific attention to each chapter summary for it's list of warnings. Please.</p><p>THIS IS A REWORK OF 'SLAVE SPEAK'!!!!! There are a lot of things in 'Slave Speak' that I'm not happy with, a lot of them. The plot mainly, but the porn as well. And as 'Slave Speak' is a favourite of both mine and yours, I wanted to do the original idea of it justice so have rewritten the thing. More info inside XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carlisle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lneible](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lneible).



> So as I was saying, this is a rework. I wanted to do the idea of 'Slave Speak' justice and the only way I could do that was by rewriting the thing. I know I've probably lost a few readers by doing this, but this version is so much fucking better. I am so proud of this piece now, it's my baby. And it generally takes two to make a baby, and my partner in this was the amazing and wonderfully talented lneible. She's my main beta and picked everything I wrote apart until it was something the both of us could be proud of. And we are. Immensley. The poor thing had to cope with my shitty grammar and my lack on being able to write in one tense and one tense only. Without her this would be bloody unreadable. This is just as much her baby as it is mine and I can't wait to share it with you!!!!  
> One of the main reasons for me rewriting 'Slave Speak' is that I lost sight in the original purpose of why I wanted to write a BDSM piece. As i am apart of the scene I have an inside knowledge that I want to put to use. I want to show all aspeact of the scene, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the aftercare which is something I find is usually not spent enough time on. Did that make sense??? See, this is why I need lneible!!!!!
> 
> A/N: This is based after the Fall and John didn't meet Mary in this universe. So, after Series 3 episode 1 and I'm just going to pretend in this universe that none of that other shit happened. I started writing this just before Series 3 came out and worked the knowledge of episode 1 in, so maybe the occasional spoiler, but nothing major. But yeah, no Mary in this universe, and John moved back into 221B with Sherlock because how could he not with all that beyond sexy hair ruffling and jaw lines????  
> Oh, and I am imagining that Master Carlisle looks something very much like Daniel Craig. Lneible, my amazing beta, wholeheartedly agrees with me, lol.
> 
> SO FUCKING ONWARDS ALREADY!!!!!!!!
> 
> EDIT: So for those who have read this already I am so sorry for most of this chapter being in italics, I had no idea what went wrong. So I've spent the better half of half an hour scouring this bitch and trying to find the italic problem and it all came down to the fact that my coding was shit and I had written the end of an italic code with it's / behind the i instead of in front of it and now the problem is fixed so you are welcome future readers and I am so sorry again to those that had to stomach most of this fic written in italics. I'll put something extra saucy in the next chapter just for the over a thousand of you that had to suffer. Glow loves you most xoxoxox

\----------------------

 

A/N: This is based after the Fall and John didn't meet Mary in this universe. So, after Series 3 episode 1 and I'm just going to pretend in this universe that none of that other shit happened. I started writing this just before Series 3 came out and worked the knowledge of episode 1 in, so maybe the occasional spoiler, but nothing major. But yeah, no Mary in this universe, and John moved back into 221B with Sherlock because how could he not with all that beyond sexy hair ruffling and jaw lines????  
Oh, and I am imagining that Master Carlisle looks something very much like Daniel Craig. Lneible, my amazing beta, wholeheartedly agrees with me, lol.

 

\-----------------------------

 

“Come again?” John asked, eyeing Sherlock with just a hint of bewilderment.

“We’re going to a BDSM club to look for either a serial kidnapper or murderer. We will have to use the disguise of a Dominant and submissive couple, with myself playing the submissive role, as our employer insisted that the only way we were going to be able to go in the club without being completely obvious about our intentions was if we took on the roles of the lifestyle. I did offer up another disguise with us as co-authors writing a novel that is based of the lifestyles of BDSM, but he kept _insisting_ that this was the only way that we could keep coming back to the club without drawing too much suspicion. Apparently we are considered to be some sort of celebrities here in London-"

"I think you'll find you're the celebrity here. I'm just the side kick to the ever impressive, ever _returning_ , Sherlock Holmes." John smirked in a rather vicious manner that suggested he didn't much care that he was considered a side kick, but more pissed off at how the press had reacted to the _"miracle"_ of Sherlock's return. There was nothing _"heroic"_ about how Sherlock had faked his own death. He’d perpetrated the greatest of lies against his best friend, and the way the press completely overlooked the damage that Sherlock caused to those around him aggravated John to no end.

"Which is why the only way we can get inside the club is by taking on the roles of the lifestyle. I considered taking the Dominant role myself because my acting skills are far superior to yours, and in the submissive role, you would mainly rely on your ability to react to whatever situation I put you in, but I can’t possibly see you crawling around on your hands and knees passively even if it is for a case. And besides, my research suggests that the attention of patrons in BDSM clubs falls predominately on the submissive, so it is probably best that I take on the role that will attract the most attention. It also helps that with your high-ranking military background people will expect you to be the one giving orders. Of course, there are people in positions of power or authority who seem to…take pleasure in relinquishing control, but your personality and characteristics don’t seem to fall into that category, so it makes the most sense for you to take on the role of the Dominant and for me to play the submissive. It will entirely fall down to you on whether or not our real intentions will be discovered.”

“Right.” John ignored Sherlock’s insults for the time being. “And who hired you again?”

“Not important.”

“Kinda is, Sherlock.”

“He owns the club _Controversial_. And as the name suggests, it caters to those who like to play rough.”

“What, rougher than what BDSM already implies?”

“It provides a safe and consensual environment for those who wish to partake in darker pleasures, yes.” Sherlock was lying on the couch with his hands perched under his chin, clasped together.

“Right.” John took a moment to gather his thoughts around the bare scraps of information Sherlock had just given him before he addressed his flatmate again. “And how exactly is this guy luring his victims in?”

“From the evidence I’ve gathered, he seems to be a ‘switch’ who has an extensive background in the BDSM world. He can act domineering to prey on submissives but he can just as readily act submissive to lure in Dominants. Add that to a charming personality and his ability to portray both roles flawlessly allows him to pick and choose his victims and lure them away to their ultimate fate. He gains their trust through the intimacy of a scene and then _that’s_ where the trail goes cold. Nothing suggests whether they are either dead or alive.”

“Have you checked the security footage? Perhaps you could see the missing people leaving the club and who’s with them… Alright there’s no need for that look.” John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s disdainful shake of his head against the arm of the couch. “So how’s he doing it then? How’s he getting them out of the club?”

Sherlock sat up with a start, flinging his legs gracefully over the side of the couch as his fingers interlaced and his chin came to rest across his knuckles. "That's the interesting thing. All of the people who have been reported missing who also retain a membership at the club are seen leaving the premise unaccompanied. And then that's the last anyone hears from them. CCTV around the building watches them leave, but then there’s no other recording of them. No eye witnesses. Nothing."

"So they just, disappear?" 

"Nobody can just _disappear_. He's taking them away in a CCTV blind spot in a different vehicle every time. And the vehicle he takes them in is always stolen and _always_ has extremely dark tinted windows so that I can’t see inside to identify the missing person or to identify the kidnappers themselves. And even if I was able to just follow a 'suspicious' looking car via CCTV all throughout London it wouldn't make a difference because he's managing to take them during 2:30-3:00AM _every time_ so there is no _possible_ way to track him currently."

"And no…unidentified bodies have shown up anywhere, I suppose?"

Sherlock stood bolt upright, a scowl marring his features. "If there were bodies just popping up all over the place I think _I_ would notice. It would appear he is not only a master of disguise and owns several membership cards, but also disposes of the bodies in such a way that not one missing person has been found."

"Then how do you know that there's even a guy killing out there?"

"Our employer has noticed a few regulars and a handful of newcomers absent where they usually attend."

"And it's not possible that they just ran away? You know, got freaked out with all the whips and chains and just bolted without telling anybody?"

"He has informed me it is not. It would appear that he has lost his own submissive to this killer. Everybody, both Dominants and submissives, have to go through a personal interview with the club's owner to determine whether or not he believes they are within sound mind to be participating in his club. If somebody was 'freaked out with all the whips and chains' he would not have let them in."

"Ah... I see."

A pensive silence settled over them both.

"Tea?" John offered.

"Don't bother. Go upstairs and get changed into the clothes I have left on your bed. We need to leave in two hours."

"Wha- we're going tonight!?"

"Time is of the essence, John."

"Well, yes, but..."

"You may want to shower first to remove the layer of Purex from your person. Should an event arise where you need to put your fingers in my mouth, I do not wish to gag on the taste of anti-bacterial hand sanitizer."

"Fine I'll... Wait. My fingers in your mouth?" John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in return, "We are going to a BDSM club, John. Anything is possible." That thought made a smile appear on Sherlock's face. "Physical interaction most probable." And that thought got rid of it. "I have to run an errand, be changed and ready by the time I get back." Sherlock spoke as he pulled his coat on, only to turn and hurtle out of 221B and down the stairs.

"Yes, of course... _Wait!_ Wait, Sherlock!" John ran down the stairs after Sherlock as fast as he could, following the black blur of _The Coat._ “Hold on a minu… Did I just agree to have sex with you!?” John searched his short-term memory, stumbling forward a bit as he chased Sherlock out onto the street. “Sh-Sherlock! I did _not_ agree to have sex with you!”

Several passersby looked at John with either raised eyebrows or scandalized faces, Sherlock had the gall to turn around and face him with a smirk. Why the hell were there so many people out on Baker Street at this time of night?

"Inside. _Now._ " John pointed back towards the flat's wide open door, a thoroughly agitated look settling on his face. 

And Sherlock, being one for drama, stood toe to toe with John, looking down at his staunch little blogger’s military stance. "Why should I?"

John was prepared for such an answer. "Because if you don't, I will personally ring Mycroft and tell him to fuck right off and get somebody else to do his legwork."

"Mycroft? Why do you think Mycroft is involved?" Sherlock's little charade for their audience dropped as he got fractionally closer to John to try and read his thought pattern within his micro expressions.

"Because when you won't tell me who’s given you a case straight away it's _always_ Mycroft. And your eyebrows do this, weird thing, whenever you lie to me." It was utter horseshit. Sherlock's eyebrows never did a _weird thing_ and John only knew when Sherlock was lying to him half the time, but it was going to be amusing watching Sherlock try and school his eyebrows when he lied to him from now on. The git. "So inside. Now." John walked ahead of Sherlock, not bothering to see if the man was following him or not. He would though. If there was one thing John knew about Sherlock, it was that he hated involving Mycroft in anything, so he would follow.

And follow he did. By the time John was back upstairs in their flat and sitting in his armchair, Sherlock had skulked up behind him and flopped dramatically in his own chair.

"Now," John began. "What _exactly_ are you expecting me to do tonight and perhaps any other night of this case, Sherlock? And let's keep in mind that I am very much straight here."

"Seriously, John. If you are going to be so closed minded about-"

"I'm not being closed minded here, Sherlock. If you had come up to me and said we had to play at being a married couple and engage in couple-y behaviour for a case, or perhaps that you had to go to your parents house for dinner and they are constantly hassling you about your love life and you just want to get them off your back, I could have gone along with that. I would have made you swear that the kitchen table would be experiment-free and the fridge wasn't to have an ounce of human flesh in it for two months... but I would have gone along with it. But when you just announce that you want me... you want me to be your _Dom_ and go to a BDSM club to find a possible serial killer... excuse me for being a wee bit hesitant."

"There are human lives at stake, John. I thought that meant something to you."

"Don't you _dare_ say that to me. Don't you _dare_."

"See, this is why you would play a convincing Dom. Your tone is-"

 _"SHERLOCK!"_ Sherlock actually shut up. That was something, at least. "Now I'm going to pretend that you aren't an ignorant _prick_ for a few seconds and give you the chance to start over again. What, exactly, are you expecting me to do tonight or any other night of this case?"

Sherlock looked at John for a small eon, his face a blank mask, his body stiff with tension. Then he just seemed to sag into his chair, anxiety seeping out minutely in the way his fingers twitched. "I owe Mycroft a few favours for helping me... for helping me-"

"Fake you own death and lie to everybody but Molly Hooper, your parents and 25 tramps, go on."

"Yes, that. I owe him a favour and a colleague of his asked for his help and he referred it on to me. I said no due to the whole…nature of this case, but he _insisted_ that I take it and called it in as one of his _favours_. And I don't like the situation any more than you do, John, so I just want to get everything over with and solve this case as quickly as possible and move on from the whole business." Sherlock finally looked up and met John's eyes, but only for an instant before those ice blue irises flickered off in another direction.

John's eyebrows rose slowly as Sherlock’s words sank in fully. "You really don't want to take this case, do you?"

"There's a reason none of this is my area, John. As I'm sure you'll find out tonight."

"What exactly are we doing tonight, Sherlock?"

"Seeing as neither of us has any practical knowledge on BDSM, excluding your occasional rather adventurous pornography endeavours and my recent research, I have arranged a meeting with our client, the owner of _Controversial,_ , Master Carlisle. He has devoted his night to teaching us the ropes as apparently BDSM has to be experienced first hand to truly grasp its intricacies."

"So will you and I be expected to..." John waved his hand in what he presumed was a telling motion.

It took Sherlock a moment or two to figure out what John was hinting at, and when he realized, his face scrunched up in distaste. "I have no idea, John. But Master Carlisle has assured me that we will not be forced to do anything truly outside of our comfort zones."

"I highly doubt that." John scoffed at the whole situation and himself for even considering it. 

"Now I really must got out because I do _actually_ have errands to run. Please shower and change into the clothes I’ve left on your bed." Sherlock stood and straightened out his coat before all but running out of the flat and down the stairs onto Baker Street.

"... Right." John sighed as loud as he could, pushing himself out of his chair and towards the stairs to go shower and change.

\----------------------

John stepped out of the shower wondering whether it was Sherlock or Mycroft he should hate more. 

Mycroft. He'd hate Mycroft more.

Not that Sherlock was blameless here. Far from it. If Sherlock had never... No. There was no point going over all of this again.

John would just have to hate both Holmes brothers equally and wonder how on _earth_ two completely normal and ordinary parents could create two completely abnormal and unique children. Seriously. How?

Drying his body rather harshly, John wrapped the towel around his waist and went about his routine of shave, aftershave, deodorant, then prodding at the bags under his eyes for a wee while whilst thinking about everything that had happened in his life to put those bags there.

Sherlock had left a suit on his bed. Not his suit, mind you. A brand new suit. And a new shirt too.

John tried his hardest not to rub between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It was just an ordinary black suit, so as long as he didn't look at the label, he could pretend that Sherlock hadn't gone out and bought him a designer suit. The same went for the crisp white dress shirt. Just put everything on and don't think about the fact that what he was wearing probably cost more than his entire wardrobe put together. Also, he tried not to wonder why everything fit like it was made for him and how Sherlock would have gone about obtaining his measurements. Then again, Sherlock had barely given The Woman a glance and he'd known her measurements, so Sherlock knowing John's measurements wasn't entirely in the world of weird. And the suit did look amazing on him.

John finished the look off with his army dress uniform shoes and took a few moments to think 'I'd tap me' before walking downstairs to find Sherlock.

Sherlock was back and sitting in his armchair, occupied on his phone. He was wearing his usual suit with that purple shirt that looked two sizes too small. He glanced up at John, his icy eyes flicking all over his person before nodding his approval once before focusing back on his phone. "You ready then?"

"As ready as I'm going to be." John huffed, tucking his phone, wallet, and keys into their appropriate pockets. "When are we leaving again?"

"Now." Sherlock stood up abruptly, pulling his suit jacket straight before leading John out onto Baker Street, a cab already waiting for them. 

Once they were situated in the cab and on their way, John turned to Sherlock. "I don't suppose you have any idea of what is going to happen tonight?"

"I have many ideas." Sherlock turned away to look out his window, avoiding eye contact. "Whether they are even remotely close to what will happen though is the question. Master Carlisle assured me that we wouldn't have to do anything we weren't comfortable with though."

John looked at Sherlock for a second longer, saw the tension in his frame, the lack of eye contact and just the general aura of _'I don't want to do this'_ that his flatmate seemed to be drowning in. "Well," John cleared his throat before continuing. "Whatever happens won't be going up on the blog, I can tell you that right now."

Sherlock choked on his surprised laugh, finally turning to face John.

"We'll just have to treat this as another adventure. A weird and kinky adventure, mind you, but an adventure nonetheless. As long as you have my back and I yours, we'll be fine. It'll all be fine."

Sherlock smiled briefly at John, turning to look back out the window. It didn't pass John that some of the tension had left Sherlock's body.

\----------------------

They pulled up to a multi-storied building that looked like a posh office complex from the outside, all steel and glass and more money than John would ever see in his lifetime. John saw a man waiting outside, hands casually tucked into his pockets. He couldn't see him too clearly from this distance, but from the look of his suit and his general posture the man was wealthy and yet appeared rather humble. And after meeting the Holmes brothers, that was a very refreshing type of wealthy. 

Before John could suss the man out further from this distance, Sherlock bolted out of the car towards the man, leaving John to swear under his breath as he paid the cabbie. As he walked up to the pair standing on the sidewalk, the man standing next to Sherlock transfixed him. He had blonde hair and blue eyes like John himself, but that was where the similarities ended. His blonde was a brighter golden for starters, the short cropped style of it belying the fact that it probably cost a fortune. And his _eyes_. The blue was so intense and bright in its dullness. And that didn't even make sense. How could eyes be both dull and bright at the same time? Yet here this man stood with eyes that seemed to not command attention, but respect. His suit was a dark navy blue with pinstripes, a waist coat to match and a crisp white shirt beneath that. His tie was the same dark navy blue as the suit, and John didn't doubt that there would be a tiepin and cufflinks to complete the look.

Sherlock filled in the blanks by giving John the man's name. "John, this is Master Carlisle."

"Dr. Watson, a pleasure to meet you." Master Carlisle said, extending his hand.

John shook it without a thought. "John, please."

Master Carlisle smiled and John nearly choked on his own breath. "John, of course. Please come inside, we have a lot to go over." He turned and swiped a card over a small control panel, the glass doors sliding open. Sherlock followed Master Carlisle in and John had to take a second to collect his thoughts before following the two men inside. The moment he had cleared the entryway, the doors slid closed, the locks audible as they reset.

\-------------------

Master Carlisle led them into an elevator and up onto the sixth floor. He explained the finer details of the building and its history as they went, erasing any chance for thought that John might have had. He did notice that Sherlock was giving him odd looks here and there, but John dismissed it as anxiety for what was coming and not that he had something on his face.

Master Carlisle swiped that card over one more control panel, wooden double doors opening with an electronic swing. Holding one arm out, Master Carlisle let the others enter first, John stumbling out a quiet "Thank you."

"My pleasure." He smiled, John hearing Sherlock huff as he paced into the room, sitting down on a couch that looked like it managed to combine both comfort and style. Master Carlisle just seemed to smile at Sherlock's forward behavior, something John wasn't used to seeing. He seemed to notice the look and walked beside John as he led them over to where Sherlock was sitting. "I've known Mycroft for years. It takes a while to get used to the odd behaviour of a Holmes, but once you get to know them a bit, their company becomes irreplaceable."

"I agree with you one hundred percent there. I don't think I'll ever get used to the eyeballs in the microwave, but I've never been happier since I've known the git." John smiled from deep within, taking pleasure in finding another person who seemed to understand, even if it was just a little bit, the joy that came from having somebody like Sherlock as your friend. He didn't understand how Mycroft could offer a friendship like Sherlock's, but each to their own.

"Hold onto that mindset, it will help immensely." Master Carlisle gave John an honest smile in return, sitting across the couch in an armchair. He watched as John went and sat next to Sherlock, getting the younger Holmes to move over and make room for him. He watched how Sherlock didn't budge until John nudged him on his arm; Sherlock scowled but moved over nonetheless. Carlisle's challenge was going to be Sherlock, not John, something he wasn't expecting. He'd make their odd relationship work in their favour though; help them overcome their physical boundaries to help discover who was tainting his club and its attendees. 

Sherlock seemed to become more and more tense the longer the silence stretched. Carlisle didn't doubt for a second that Sherlock was beyond over-thinking his current situation, his mind tearing itself apart with the endless possibilities. Mycroft was much the same in that silence could both work for and against him. Carlisle knew of ways to make Mycroft slow that thought process down or stop it completely, but from Mycroft's warnings, such methods would not work on Sherlock. He and John were going to have to work together to find a way for Sherlock to let go long enough to notice the pleasure and not just catalogue it away as a sensation vital to solving a case. The case was important, completely so, but it was going to break Sherlock if they weren't careful, Mycroft had made this abundantly clear.

The prolonged silence seemed to be too much for Sherlock, the man letting out an angry huff of air before leaning forward and digging his elbows into his knees. "You might as well go over the facts of the case for John to hear. It may help me make more connections by hearing the facts again."

John shot Sherlock an angry look before turning to face Master Carlisle, his posture suggesting that whilst he didn't agree with Sherlock's delivery method, the man had a valid point.

"Very well." Master Carlisle stood and walked over to his desk, taking the file off of the top of the desk and handing it over to Sherlock as he sat back in his chair. Sherlock’s top lip pulled up into a grimace at the thought of reading the file again, handing it over to John instead. John opened it up and read as Carlisle verbally went over the facts again. "Over the past year I have noticed some strange disappearances from members of my club. It is not uncommon in a lifestyle such as this for people to come and go from one club to the next without a word to anybody due to a change in interests or other personal reasons. But I personally go round to check on them if they have left without a word or have been absent and out of contact for over a month. Mental health is commonly ignored within the BDSM lifestyle and it's a grievance I try to amend by knowing each and every one of my club attendees so that I can look for trigger signs in people who should not be playing that night or that they need to see a mental health care professional. I will not admit someone into my club if all they want is to be bled dry for sins of their past, nor those who want to hurt others for a taste of power.

"Most of the time departures tend to revolve around the fact that somebody has either tired of the lifestyle or found somebody to share it with behind closed doors. But over the past year, five people have gone missing without letting anybody know their new whereabouts. The last place they were seen was _Controversial_ and as I'm sure you know by now, CCTV can not place them anywhere past the curb of this building. It is not completely uncommon for people, both within and outside of the lifestyle, to drop everything and start fresh elsewhere. But for it to happen five times in one year and for me to know them personally and not have seen any indicators to lead up to such a disappearance? I reported each and every disappearance once I realised that that was what they were. And it stops being a coincidence when one of your own submissives becomes one of the missing."

"Am I to presume that you have more than one submissive?" Sherlock asked, hands having come up to steeple under his chin.

"Yes, I currently have three."

"Three?!" John spluttered.

Master Carlisle smiled at John. "I have years of knowledge within the BDSM lifestyle. I see kids barely entering adulthood playing with fire daily and not knowing what they are doing and just how it affects others. And whilst I generally tend to encourage that people should wait until they have emotionally matured, I can understand wanting something down to your very bones and not knowing how to approach such a longing and doing some very risky things in order to discover just what it is you really want. So I take in those new to the lifestyle and show them what it is they want and what it is they need. I make them sign a confidentiality agreement and a contract saying that they will be under my care for a year and no longer. Should I feel that my personal tastes do not align with their own, I suggest the services of some very experienced friends of mine. It might interest you to know that I also train others in how to Dominate. I have two under my wing at the moment." Carlisle turned his attention to Sherlock. "Have I missed anything out?"

"Nothing I haven't already told John." Sherlock unsteepled his fingers, took the folder from John and threw it onto the table in front of them. 

"Right, down to business I think." Carlisle clapped his hands together, standing up and ushering the others to do the same. "I'm just going to go with the flow and feed off of you two. I don't generally train with both a new sub and Dom, one generally seems to be more experienced than the other and have come seeking my help to show their partner to the wonders of the lifestyle." Sherlock rolled his eyes while John watched Carlisle with rapt attention. "Yeah, see, this will work out perfectly. Seeing as how you two are in the press so much you won't be able to take on personas. London already knows you and the type of people you are. So please trust in the roles I have given you and hopefully what I teach you will begin to feel more and more natural as time goes on. I am well aware that with the odd hours _Controversial_ is open and with the fact that within the space of a year five people have gone missing that means that we are looking at quite a long and involved timeframe."

"Wait, hold on." John scrunched his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long is a 'long and involved timeframe'?"

"As long as it takes to catch the suspect, John. Do keep up." Sherlock frowned down at John.

"You, shut up." John frowned turning to Carlisle. "How long do we have to keep up this charade?"

"Master Carlisle doesn't know how the suspect operates, so how can he give you a specific time frame?" Sherlock interrupted again. "We will take on these _roles_ until the suspect is caught. Whether it takes a month or another year, we will find them and we will _shut them down._ "

"I understand it is a lot to ask..." 

"No. I don't think you do." John cut Carlisle off, frowning between both the taller men on either side of him. John Watson did not take well to being surrounded. "I understand that _you_ owe Mycroft a favour." He pointed at Sherlock. "And I get that you have gone through a great loss of both the people around you and somebody dear." John fisted his hands at his sides, looking between the men, his chin up. "But I will _not_ change everything I know about myself for an undeterminable amount of time, I will _not_ put my life on hold, for something I'm not needed for."

"What do you mean not needed for?" Turning to John, Sherlock gave the shorter man that look he had that suggested he was trying to pry his way into John’s head to read his mind right now.

"Oh please, you did just fine without me by your side before, you'll be fine without me on this. You can play Master Carlisle's submissive and talk things over with me when you get home if you really need a sounding board that much." 

"I won't." Sherlock stepped away from John, giving him a look that threatened to betray what he was really feeling.

"Don't be so-"

"I can't!" Sherlock stepped away from John and crouched down on the floor, hands flying up to crush and pull at his hair.

"Sherlock." John instantly knelt down in front of him, placing his hands over top of Sherlock's larger ones, slowly easing his fingers loose.

"You haven't told him much, have you." It wasn't a question. Master Carlisle could read it plain as day before him.

"I've told him everything about the case!" Sherlock all but yelled to the floor.

"Told me what?" John kept his hands on Sherlock's to make sure the man wouldn't tear his hair out, a horrible habit he had picked up in his two year absence when things became too much. He turned to direct his question at Master Carlisle though.

"I'll tell him if you won't." Carlisle gave Sherlock ample time to fill his flatmate in, but when he was answered with nothing but silence, he told John one of Sherlock's most time honoured secrets. "Sherlock and I have already been over the possibility of him acting as my submissive during his time on this case. It was actually our first solution to approaching this. But it became quickly apparent that that wouldn't work. Sherlock doesn't respond well to the touch of those he does not trust. He doesn't respond to touch well at all really, but we both have a theory that it will be easier on him if you are the one doing the touching. We have tried it with me being the one touching him, but-"

"I was repulsed." Sherlock muttered, still directing his words at the floor. "I couldn't maintain the persona and mindset of a submissive and all but had to scrub my skin right off to get rid of the feeling of _him_ touching me."

John quickly looked at Master Carlisle, hoping the man would understand that what Sherlock was saying was not meant as an insult. But it seemed such fears were unwarranted. Carlisle looked down at Sherlock with an expression of understanding, rather than pity or rage. Looking back at Sherlock, John noticed that the man currently having a mental breakdown in the middle of a stranger’s office was not simply letting John touch him, but clutching at his hands. John went back through his memory of Sherlock making contact with others and came up very short. He would hug and kiss Mrs. Hudson on the cheek and allow her to touch him, when she would do such a thing, without a qualm. He'd willingly push and shove and maneuver John about places, along with the occasional affectionate pat on the shoulder or even rarer hug. He never seemed to come into contact with Mycroft. He let The Woman touch him but tended to look a bit like a deer caught in the headlights every time it happened. He'd never really seen any contact between Lestrade and Sherlock outside of the occasional arrest, but Sherlock never seemed to...

"You think so bloody loudly." Sherlock groaned, looking up at John. "Whilst I don't encourage touch among everybody I meet, I honestly don't mind it. It's once the intent of it becomes something more... just more, I panic and can't control my emotions and just, just-"

"It's fine." John cut him off. "It's all fine? Please? Just breathe, Sherlock. I'll stay and do this bloody thing with you. I don't know why, but I will. So just breathe."

Sherlock took a deep breath in and out, in and out, not realising that he hadn't been doing so in the first place.

"Now grab each other's cocks and wank the other silly." When Carlisle received two horrified looks he laughed into his fist. "Sorry, sorry. Just trying to break the tension. I have an awful sense of humour and an even poorer sense of timing, so sorry." Letting the last of his giggles out, Carlisle eventually turned to the other two with a smile. "We really do need to get a move on though. So if you'd both stand, that would be lovely."

Waiting for Sherlock to stand then help John up with a proffered hand, Carlisle looked at their height difference as he fell into the well practiced role of mentor and tutor. "Usually a sub will place themselves below the height of their Dom at all times as a sign of respect. But, ah, seeing as there is such a height difference between the two of you, and Sherlock doesn't seem the type to crawl everywhere nor hunch himself over, I don't think we'll be using such a practice. Instead, Sherlock, you'll walk _beside_ John. Again, usually subs walk behind their Doms, but that just doesn't feel right between you two. You're equals, in every way. What one lacks the other makes up for in abundance. You compliment each other in such a way that having one so obviously on a higher rank seems false and you can bet your sweet arses that the filth that is harming my club goers will spot any flaws in this act once you're out playing with the others. So the closer we can work out something that fits you two for who you are as individuals and partners, the better.

"So stay at his side, Sherlock. Never in front of behind." Master Carlisle watched as Sherlock did as was instructed, coming to stand beside John. "Bow your head enough that it’s comfortable but respectful to both John and other Doms by avoiding eye contact."

Sherlock bowed his head to such a level, and John watched him to see what that looked like.

"And when John comes to a stop to talk to his peers, you will keep your head at that level and kneel beside him."

Sherlock knelt, and John was shocked at how much grace the man had when he wasn't flinging himself onto the couch to have himself an epic sulk.

"And seeing as this whole thing is based on how well you two are a team, I want Sherlock to be able to tell when to kneel and stand without a word from you John. And I want it to be a smooth and fluid movement too, just like you did now. I want John to walk with swagger knowing he's got the most graceful submissive out there." John smirked and Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Carlisle's message was received. "So try standing up, with your head at that same level, nice and smooth like."

John watched Sherlock stand, his head elegantly bent, and his jaw nearly dropped. "Amazing." Yeah, several years down the track and there was still no filter from his head to his mouth when complimenting the wonder that was Sherlock Holmes.

"And John is going to always compliment you like that, so keep that coming. The more you make it sound like Sherlock is the most amazing thing since sliced bread the more others around you will think it. John, go sit down on the couch and Sherlock go sit where you would think is appropriate."

John moved to sit on the couch and watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He stayed right beside John as far as he could, then as soon as John sat, Sherlock followed behind him only a second afterwards, kneeling beside John's legs. Every movement the man made was liquid and fluid, his head bowed ever so slightly, eyelashes obscuring his eyes.

"Good effort." Carlisle folded his arms across his chest.

"What do you mean 'good effort'? It was perfect." Sherlock looked up at Mast Carlisle, frown firmly in place.

"Yeah, _technically_ , it was. But how else could you have placed yourself?" 

Sherlock scowled at Master Carlisle as he flopped his body dramatically to the side, leaning his body against John's leg.

John discreetly placed the side of his fist over his mouth to cover the smirk at Sherlock's obvious frustration at not getting something perfect on the first go.

"Now try it again from standing up, minus the attitude." Master Carlisle was all order and commandment, arms still folded across his chest.

Scowling at the man for a moment longer, Sherlock dropped his head and schooled his features. He stood with grace, knelt with refinement, then fluidly leant into John's legs, head coming to rest on top of John's knee. The angle would have been awkward if he hadn't calibrated in John's height. "You're too short."

"No, you're too bloody tall." John smirked at the top of Sherlock's head, a sight he wasn't really familiar with. He took in the whorl of the man's thick dark hair, and just knew that the man would never have a balding day in his life.

"Now stand and try it another way."

John nearly choked on his giggle.

Sherlock kept his head at that downwards angle but the scowl just could not be erased from his face. He really didn't like taking orders. Which just made the whole situation that much more funny to John. 

This time Sherlock placed a knee on the couch, lowering himself until he was lying in his side with his head on John's lap, glowering at Master Carlisle.

Sherlock's head was warm and his body long, even when it was curled in the 'S' shape it was currently in. He had draped his body along the couch in such a luxuriant way, oozing sexual appeal that was obviously an act.

"And one more time, just for luck." 

John would have let a laugh slip if it wasn't for the way Master Carlisle was smirking. That smirk suggested that John would be in for the shock and have a reason to scowl this time round.

And sure enough, when Sherlock stood, no less elegant than the times before, John was in for the shock.

Sherlock's left knee came to rest bare millimeters away from his right hip, the other leg swinging over his lap and pressing against his left side. Long arms came around the back of his neck, holding John's shoulders tight as Sherlock lowered himself onto the doctor's lap, his nose pressing firmly against the side of John's throat. And John just knew that Sherlock was using his very limited vision to glare at Master Carlisle. John would have glared too if he had the brain function to spare.

"Very good. I trust you'll use each position appropriately, Sherlock. The kind of relationship we are creating between you two needs to be based on believability, not just technique. You need to get every possible permutation of stop, kneel, be with me right. And John, don't be afraid to touch Sherlock in any of those positions. A hand in the hair or resting on the shoulder will create a loop of affection, showing that you approve of wherever Sherlock has placed himself." Master Carlisle raised an eyebrow expectantly when John remained frozen.

"Right." The word was quick but his movements slow as John brought his hands up to rest on Sherlock's mid-thigh. He felt the muscles beneath his hands tense and the arms around his neck tighten as he did so. "Hey, none of that, it's just me. Nothing unwanted is going to happen." The words were only loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but Master Carlisle could see his mouth moving and could make his own deductions from there.

"What part of this is _wanted?_ " Sherlock spoke into John's neck, the vibrations of his hushed voice seeping through John’s skin and rattling his bones.

"It could be worse." John smirked.

"How could this be any worse?"

"Your brother, parents, Molly Hooper, and twenty-five tramps could be watching on."

Sherlock pulled back to arm’s length instantly and glared at John. "Are you _ever_ going to let that go?"

"Never." John smiled up at the ridiculous man currently on his lap and was pleased to feel the muscles beneath his palms relax a bit.

"You're completely at my mercy right now. I could snap your neck and be done with you entirely."

"You could." John mused. "Although I always thought you'd be more likely to poison me. And besides, I just have to move my hands slightly up your thighs and you'd freeze like a deer caught in headlights."

"Yes, poison does seem one of the only ways to kill you without complications. And I would not."

John didn’t know whether it was a testament to their friendship or his lack of sanity that they were talking about his best friend would end his life and he was completely ok with it. Encouraging it even. "I am a hard man to kill." John slipped his hands up a mere two centimeters and smirked widely when Sherlock's thighs tightened beneath his palms.

"Not that hard." Sherlock was at a loss for what to do. Every atom in his body was screaming at him to leap off of John's lap and go scald his flesh in boiling water to rid himself of the sensations of _touch._

But that wouldn't solve anything.

And it wasn't all bad sitting here on John's lap. John was right, nothing unwanted would happen. John wouldn't force him to do anything he truly didn't want to do. That wasn't the kind of man John Watson was. The moment Sherlock said stop, John would stop. Then offer him endless support in any form Sherlock asked for to make everything better. So if that meant Sherlock wanted John to piss off but stay within arms reach, then that's what John would do. John _knew_ Sherlock. He'd know when to stop.

And it was a bit nice, being on John's lap. John was warm. John was solid. Solid in a way that wasn’t easily recognizable through worn jeans and squishy jumpers. The suit helped highlight some of this solidness, but Sherlock probably wouldn't be satisfied until he saw John in his entirety, unclothed. And John wouldn't harm him. So Sherlock could look down at the hands on his thighs and feel the revulsion within him start to ebb away. He could feel the warmth of John's palms through his trousers and associate that warmth with being safe. John wouldn't harm him. 

"You forget that I was in a war zone for around thirteen years and only left because some prick shot me, and even then I still came out of it alive." As John spoke, he let his hands inch up Sherlock's thighs a wee bit more, Sherlock dropped his right hand from John's nape to his left shoulder, feeling for the scar tissue beneath the layers of suit jacket, shirt and undershirt. "Not even a psychotic madman who strapped explosives to my chest could kill me."

"I helped him not kill you then." Sherlock looked down at where his hand was resting on John's shoulder and inexplicably became furious with the fabric beneath his fingers.

"You can feel it, if you want."

Sherlock looked up into John's eye sharply, making sure the man's permission was genuine before focusing on pushing the collar of his suit jacket aside and undoing five of the dress shirt's buttons. Slipping his hand inside, beneath the undershirt, Sherlock's fingertips brushed over mottled scar tissue. He scrunched his eyes closed as he made a mental map of the damage a bullet had left that eventually brought John Hamish Watson to Sherlock Holmes. He could feel the original exit wound damage and the surrounding damage caused from infection and the removal of necrotic tissue. Sherlock moved his body closer to John's as he sought out the entry wound, his left hand slipping inside the back of the infernal layers of cloth John was wearing and finally resting his bare fingertips on the entry wound of the 7.62x54mm round, most likely from a Russian Dragunov sniper rifle.  
"He was above you when he shot you, approximately 300-500meters away. He had the higher ground, but the…" Sherlock moved his fingers around the entry wound scar and pressed lightly into the centre of it. "…angle of the wound suggests you would have been kneeling at the time to account for an accurate height of the shooter. But why were you kneeling? Obvious. You were tending to another fallen soldier medically when you yourself were shot. The round shattered your left scapula, it's a wonder the shrapnel didn't tear your lung apart." Sherlock pressed his fingers firmly along John's left shoulder blade, feeling for the repaired fractures. "Due to your global location, infection would have set in despite the expert medical team I'm sure the army employed. You were shipped back to England as soon as they could, but by then the infected flesh had already turned necrotic and your life was truly in the balance. I imagine it would have been touch and go for a bit," Sherlock dipped the fingers of his right hand in all of the wells and crevices the life saving surgery left behind, "but you pulled through. Nerve damage was quite severe, to the point where you can't really feel where I am touching you exactly, more a dull notion or sense if anything, yet the look on your face suggests that not many have touched you here. Outside of yourself, other doctors, your physiotherapist, and probably a girlfriend or two."

"You've shown the most interest in it, I'll give you that. And right on all counts. Brilliant. Absolutely and completely _brilliant._ " Their faces were mere centimeters apart with the position Sherlock was in and John was overcome with the urge to kiss the brilliant man sitting on his lap. Digging his fingertips ever so slightly into Sherlock's thighs, John placed a barely there kiss on Sherlock's jaw and wasn't surprised in the slightest when Sherlock drew back and off of his lap entirely, his fingers pressing into the point of contact so firmly it was bound to leave a mark.

"Why did you have to ruin a perfectly good moment?" Sherlock looked angry, but John doubted that that was what was really going on within him though. More a sudden shock of emotion that Sherlock couldn't figure out, so he settled on one that he did know.

"Felt like the right thing to do."

"Well it wasn't."

"I really think it was."

"You're going to have to get used to things like that, Sherlock." Both men turned around to face the other occupant of the room, completely having forgotten about Master Carlisle's existence. The man in question had managed to sit back down in his chair and was on his phone. He turned the screen to show a game of Candy Crush in progress. "Seemed like I would have been intruding if I just stood there and watched a moment like that. Plus, this game is so bloody addictive. Don't ever play it." Tucking his phone back into his inner jacket pocket, Carlisle leveled a look at Sherlock. "You need to get used to John touching you and you touching him. And whilst you were making some serious progress there I don't see why you panicked at a quick peck on the cheek. You _do_ realise that there is a performance policy within _Controversial_? The moment you step foot into the _Playroom_ you are expected to perform. Which means that John is going to have to touch you, flog you, spank you, jerk you off, draw an orgasm out of you body for all to see. And that in turn means that you can not be jumping right off his lap due to a tiny _peck_ on the _cheek_. So now sit back down on John's lap and he is going to _peck_ you all over your face until you stop twitching like a blushing maiden."

John knew that Master Carlisle was just trying to make a point, and that the only way he was going to get through Sherlock's incredibly thick skull within such a short amount of time was with blitzkrieg tactics… but it came off as harsh to John.

Reaching out, John brushed the fingers of his right hand over Sherlock's left, expecting the flinch that happened and the snap of Sherlock's head as he focused in on John again. John held the fingers of Sherlock's hand, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles, feeling the calluses there. "I didn't know you boxed."

"I started during uni. I practice regularly to maintain the skill set. You wouldn't believe how useful self defense is in my line of work."

Having something else to focus on seemed to do the trick, and John gently pulled Sherlock back onto his lap. But the man was still hesitant, remaining in a kneeling position above John's body. It put his crotch directly in line with John's face, but he did his best to ignore that for the time being. Instead, John brought Sherlock's hand to his lips and kissed the old scars there. The skin was smooth but tough and Sherlock merely tensed, his fingers squeezing around John's before relaxing again. "What else do you know?"

"Karate."

John turned his hand over and kissed his palm.

"Tai Kwan Do."

John kissed the delicate skin of his wrist.

"Fencing."

John pulled Sherlock down until he was seated in his lap once more.

"Tai chi."

That earned a huff of laughter as John pulled Sherlock closer to him.

"Wing Chun."

John kissed the hollow between his collar bones.

"Capoeira."

John kissed his throat, leaving his lips pressed against the skin there.

"Did a brief stint of Kendo."

John smiled against his throat, the vibrations of Sherlock's voice tingling against his lips. He placed a firmer kiss there before placing another over the red mark on Sherlock's jaw where the very first kiss had landed.

"Jujitsu." 

John kissed his brow.

"Taijutsu."

His cheekbone.

"And finally, wrestling all throughout third form."

John moved until their lips were bare millimeters apart. "How old were you?"

"Ten."

"Are there photos?"

"I'm sure Mummy kept some though I burn them all every time I find them."

"Great." John closed the distance, placing a delicate and quick peck on Sherlock's lips. He realised the moment he pulled away that kissing Sherlock was going to become very addictive.

Sherlock's entire body was tense, his frame locked around John. Trying to ease some of the tension in his flatmate, John rubbed small circles into the man's lower back with his left hand, his right still clutched around Sherlock's left hand.

"I underestimated how long this would take. I'm sending you two off with homework." Master Carlisle stood from his chair, picking up the folder from the table in front of him and walked over to sit behind his desk instead, placing the file in one of the desk's drawers. "You're to sleep in the same bed together, make as much body contact as you can. Sherlock needs to get used to your presence and your touch and this is the only way I can actually think of at this current point in time without interfering in your daily schedules too much. You'll come to this building every weekday at 6PM and I will determine when you will be allowed on my club floors. I won't ask of you to perform too many sexual acts within this office, merely train you up in other aspects of the BDSM lifestyle, but if you come here with the mindset that you will be getting intimate with each other it is going to make everybody's jobs easier. I'll see you tomorrow which is a…" Carlisle looked down at the small flippable calendar on his desk. "Thursday."

"You do know that he barely sleeps, right?" John enquired, turning his head to face Master Carlisle.

"Good. Then as you are sleeping he can get used to touching and being touched by you. I imagine that if you set a regular bed time and waking time his body will adjust and he might even get some regular sleep here and there."

"I highly doubt it." Sherlock scoffed.

"You'd be surprised about the studies performed on not only setting consistent sleeping times, but the effect that sleeping with somebody next to you has on the body and its ability to relax and calm itself. So even if you don't end up sleeping regularly, your body will adjust to having regular down times to unwind and relax." Carlisle walked back around his desk to in front of where Sherlock was still sitting on John's lap, the two of them looking at him with mixed expressions. "I wanted to cover more today but I feel like I'll be pushing my luck if I put Sherlock into a situation that may cause problems in the physicality department. So go home, climb into bed together, and find a way to get used to each other’s presence. I'll see you at six tomorrow."

Sherlock all but leapt off John's lap straightening his jacket and putting a very thorough distance between himself and the other men. He'd maxed out on a whole year’s worth of physical contact and intimacy in one meager night, so until he was forced to share a bed with his flatmate, he wasn't going to risk touching anybody.

John held out his hand and smiled when Master Carlisle warmly shook it. Then he considered where his hands had just been, and whilst they were not so innocently on the outside of trousers, he rationalised Master Carlisle's profession meant that trouser hands were probably not even on the list of things to worry about. Then John thought about where Carlisle's hands could have been and he flushed red, ending the hand shake and turning to usher Sherlock out of the building. And into bed. His brain had a mini-stroke at that thought.

"Actually, John, I was wondering if I could have a word with you." Carlisle took a step forward to a hastily retreating, _blushing_ John, and by the way he kept stealing glances at Carlisle's hands, he knew that the doctor's mind was currently perusing the gutter.

Sherlock took a step closer to John.

"Alone." Carlisle added, smiling innocently at the death glare Sherlock aimed at him. The Holmes brothers could be so dramatic.

"Fine." Sherlock stormed out of the room, John being the only one to admire how the doors automatically sensed the detective's presence and swung open automatically.

Waiting for the doors to seal shut, Carlisle let his casual smile settle into something a little more serious. He waited until he had John's full attention before speaking, jumping straight to the point. "If Sherlock is anything like his brother, he's a tad bit emotionally crippled."

"That would have to be one of the very few similarities they share. And I have no idea why. Have you actually met their parents?"

"Yes, actually. Lovely… normal folk."

"Weird, right?"

"Completely." Carlisle mentally shook himself to get back on point. "And this emotional crippling is going to completely confuse Sherlock. And I don't mean in a 'he doesn't understand pop references' way. I mean that Sherlock has never before bothered to deal with his emotions, and if he has, they have either stressed him out or backfired in his face in the form of rejection, so he's gone and stuffed them away under a rug and refused to deal with them ever again.

"I want you to understand this first. If Sherlock had come to me asking to be introduced to the BDSM lifestyle, I would have turned him down immediately. And not because he doesn't have much sexual experience or because he’s never really committed himself to a relationship, but because of how emotionally fragile he is. The man is like thin glass when it comes to genuine emotions."

"That's completely true. You should have seen him when I casually mentioned that he was my best friend." John's smile was both fond and weak, sentimental that _he_ got to be Sherlock Holmes' first best friend, yet his heart ached at the thought of Sherlock growing up without having somebody important enough in his life to call a best friend. 

"Now imagine putting somebody with the emotional capacity of a three year old in a situation where he has to give his fairly untouched body over for somebody else to touch and caress and inflict pain upon. He's not going to know what name belongs to which emotion that appears and he'll either react one of two ways. The influx of unnamed emotions could confuse him to the point where he shuts down completely and goes into auto-pilot and just goes through the motions until he's in a safe environment where's he'll break down completely and putting that fallen egg back together again is going to be damn near impossible, even with the expertise of an ex-army doctor."

"And the other option?" John didn't want to hear it. He didn’t like the sound of that first scenario.

Carlisle scrubbed his hand over his face, looking down momentarily before flicking his gaze back up at John. "He could fall in love with you."

John straightened up, his jaw set solid.

"I don't think you entirely understand BDSM, John."

"Whips and chains and crawling. Kinky sex. Dominants and submissives. Fun and creative way to sit on somebody's lap. What have I missed?"

Carlisle let out a small laugh and spun around, taking in his office as he shifted his weight from foot to foot in a slow perusal of the room. John stayed firmly rooted looking straight ahead. But Carlisle didn't doubt for a minute that the man knew his exact whereabouts and how to not only defend himself should Carlisle attack, but disarm and overpower him in an instant. "I'm going to pretend that the answer you gave me was just a joke among men. I'm going to pretend that you told me this instead. BDSM is not just about _whips_ and _chains_ and I swear to god that one day I'm going to throttle Rihanna."

Taking a deep breath to calm himself a bit, Carlisle continued. "BDSM, the kind I encourage anyway, is about freedom. Mental and physical and emotional freedom. It's about the ability to put not only the sake of your body but your _trust_ into another's hands and have faith that they are not only going to give you what you want, but know what you _need_. That somebody can take one look at you and know that the high pressure job you have takes everything from you and all you want to do is put your pleasure into somebody else's care to relax from everything that accumulates stress in your life. That when I give you and order to follow there is a reason behind it, even if it seems completely irrelevant and a waste of your precious time.

"Did you know that I enforce a rule upon the elder Holmes? I _make_ him take an hour off twice every week to sit down and do nothing but sip tea, read the paper, and indulge in a slice of cake or two. When I gave the order do you know what he did? He opened his briefcase and pulled out five files, telling me the gist of what was in each of those top secret, government official, nation saving files, explaining that spending a hour, twice a week, to drink tea and eat cake and _relax_ was not only a colossal waste of his time but an endangerment to the British nation as a whole."

When Carlisle didn't continue and the ensuing silence suggested that John should say something, the doctor closed his eyes to the imagery that Master Carlisle had just painted for him. "How did you reply?"

"I didn't. I handed him a folder of my own containing everything from his blood sugar levels to his sky high blood pressure. The report suggested that Mycroft would find his end in a sugarless heart attack from stress. I walked out of my own office and left Mycroft in there to make his own deductions. I now get two pictures sent to my mobile every week of the daily paper and whatever cake is that day’s special. When I give an order, when a _Dom_ gives an order, whether it be sexual or not, it is _always_ with their submissive’s best interests in mind. So when I only receive one photo every occasional week, I text Mycroft a time and date, and when he shows up, he takes the punishment I see fit with his head held high because he directly disobeyed an order I have set in place to safeguard his health. With every blow of a flogger, or every second of complete silence I make him sit in, Mycroft knows that he deserves it for putting his job before his own health. And when I say Sherlock has a sixty percent chance of falling in love with you due to being so morbidly inexperienced in emotions and physical contact, I expect you to formulate a plan on how you are either going to encourage this new found emotion or lay down a foundation of friendship with occasional physical contact within the walls of this building and nowhere else. And I don't want you spending every waking moment over-thinking what I've just said. Because you look like an over-thinker. I want you to make the decision tonight in the moment when you are lying in bed together and the split second you make eye contact with each other. This decision has to come from the gut and the heart, not the mind. And only in that moment when you are locked in each other’s gaze are you to make that decision, never before."

"Why the fuck should I listen to _anything_ you have just said? Sherlock said that you gave _your word_ that we wouldn't be doing anything together that we were uncomfortable with and now you are telling me I have to choose between loving my best friend or being in love with him. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm feeling a little bit uncomfortable right now."

"If you don't make this decision based on the heart and gut instinct and over think this situation like you have just now, then you will destroy him. Sherlock is like fine glass. Completely beautiful and something you want to hold in both hands and treasure forever. But apply too much pressure, or place him in the hands of another where there is no trust, and he'll shatter. You can base your whole experience in alternate lifestyles whilst on this case any way you deem the most comfortable and the most believable. If that means that the performances you do in this building are solely floggings or forms of punishment for all the wrongdoings Sherlock has caused during the week, followed by praise for taking the punishment so well and enforcing that what you are doing is so Sherlock can learn about correct social behaviour, then that's the angle you work with. If it means that you caress Sherlock for being brilliant on his other cases and reward him with sexual release and physical contact, then that's the angle you work with. Whatever the two of you are comfortable with is the angle you go with. But the more you touch him without an understanding about your expectations, the more Sherlock is going to be pushed towards that edge and the result will be either him falling in love or pulling back to create total emotional distance." Carlisle could sense that his words to John weren't sinking in completely. John was hearing him, but he wasn't _listening_. "Look, no matter what you choose, whether it's forming a romantic relationship or keeping this strictly 'professional' for the duration of this case, you need to choose right for yourself or, ultimately, you'll be choosing wrong for the person who is putting his complete trust in you and what you can do to him. BDSM is something that can influence as much or as little of a relationship outside of a scene as a couple wants or needs it to. So this case can affect as much or as little or your regular life as you and Sherlock choose. I only ask that you make that choice promptly."

Carlisle had ended up by the doors to his office which swung open upon detecting his presence.

John wasn't paying attention to the doors this time.

"I'll see you tomorrow at six."

John turned sharply and marched out of the office, not stopping until he realised he was outside the building with Sherlock exhaling the smoke from a cigarette. He angrily snatched the cancer stick out of his flatmate's fingers and crushed it beneath the sole of his shoe. "You've quit."

"Well, in light of recent stressful events-"

"You've quit." John marched out to the curb and hailed a taxi for them both back to Baker Street.

\----------------------------------

The cab ride passed in complete silence, with Sherlock's middle and forefingers of his right hand rubbing together slowly in solace of his unfinished cigarette. John looked out at the window, and when the cab came to a stop out side of 221 Baker Street, he climbed out of the cab immediately, leaving Sherlock to pay the fare for once. 

By the time Sherlock made it up to 221B's living room, John was in the kitchen pouring hot water into a mug.

"Do you want one?" John didn't turn around to ask the question, just paused with his hand raised holding onto the handle of a cupboard labeled _'Non Experimental Ware'_.

"I'm alright, thanks." Sherlock watched John's arm lower and go to stirring his tea, adding a splash of milk. Sherlock wanted to ask John about what Master Carlisle had said to him alone. He had a vague idea that it would be about trying to make Sherlock submissive in everyday life, or how to touch Sherlock more, even though the very idea of physical contact made his skin crawl. But despite what everybody said or thought about Sherlock, he knew that he couldn't ask that question. He'd spent a lot of time once he had returned back to London on social niceties so now he knew a thing or two about asking appropriate questions, or more, _not_ asking inappropriate questions. And whatever Master Carlisle had said to John, it was weighing on the good doctor's mind heavily. 

John turned around and caught Sherlock staring at him. Generally, when caught staring, the person doing the staring would look away. But there was nothing general about Sherlock, so he kept on staring even when John had blatantly caught him. And as John looked back, he saw a mixture of things warring for control on Sherlock’s face: he looked torn up, curious, angry, and just plain old confused. John let out a very audible sigh before taking a seat in his armchair. Sherlock did the same in his own, and John had never been happier that Sherlock could read his unspoken questions. Whether is be the unspoken 'Sit down so we can talk' or the implied 'I'm about to apologize for being a tit and would like you to take it seriously'.

Scrubbing his hand through his hair then taking a sip of tea John looked over at Sherlock. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Then as an afterthought Sherlock added, "I'm sorry too."

John huffed a laugh, his smile small but true. "It's fine. Don't suppose you figured out a sleeping plan whilst Carlisle was talking to me?"

"Bed at eleven then wake at seven. This allows the recommended eight hours of sleep. And we should sleep in my bed because it's bigger."

John nodded his agreement as he took another sip of tea. It all sounded reasonable, although he was used to waking at six in the morning and going to bed later, his body, he suspected, was going to rejoice at the opportunity to get more sleep. "And are you going to take on other cases whilst we are doing this?"

"Of course." Sherlock rearranged his body in his seat to something a little less stiff, relaxing into the topic of The Work. "I won't start anything above a seven until we have finished this ridiculous training and actually get into _Controversial_ , but after that, I'll take cases throughout the week as the club is only open on weekends."

"Sounds like a plan."

John got up and turned on the telly, Sherlock buggered off to wherever to do god knows what, and they fell into the routine of years past—something that was comfortable and secure for them both. John followed what Master Carlisle had said and he didn't think about what he wasn't meant to think about. When 10:30PM arrived, John got up, turned the telly off, washed his mug and put it away, then climbed the stairs to get ready for bed.

Teeth brushed, suit laid neatly at the end of his bed and pyjama pants and an undershirt on, John walked back down the stairs and straight into Sherlock's room. 

Sherlock was sitting up in bed in his pyjama bottoms and an old cotton shirt, his laptop in his lap, long legs tucked under the duvet. He looked up at John, giving him a tight smile before looking back down at his laptop. 

"Anything interesting?" John asked, pulling up his side of the duvet and climbing in. Sherlock's room was surprisingly spotless, his need to spread chaos seemingly restricted to their living room and kitchen. 

"I wish. It's like people think I'm a PI and am going to willingly spy on their spouses to see if they are cheating." Sherlock snapped his laptop closed with a huff, arms coming up to cross stiffly over his chest. "I'm a Consulting Detective, _not_ a Private Investigator."

"You should put that up on your website." John smirked.

"Oh ha ha, very funny." Sherlock turned to face John then immediately regretted it as the elephant in the room became a little more than obvious. "So… ah, how do you… want to do," He gestured his hand in circular motions between them. "This?"

Captain John Watson steeled his resolve and decided that now was not the time to be pussy footed about their situation. "Seeing as there is a considerable height difference between us, I am going to lie on my side and you’re going to spoon me."

"Ah… right."

John scrunched his brow. "You _do_ know what spooning is, right?"

"Of course I know what _spooning_ is!"

And with that, John was forced and scrunched into the most awkward spoon of his life. There was a canyon of space between their bodies and Sherlock's left arm was awkwardly draped over his side, clearly never having done this before. "Right." John took hold of Sherlock's arm so the man couldn't squirm away and backed himself up until his back came into contact with Sherlock's front. Then John relaxed into the warmth the was Sherlock, moving the lanky detective's arm until it bent and his pale palm rested along John's cotton covered sternum.

Sherlock was tense and rigid until John placed his hand over his sternum. He could feel a faint drumming beat beneath his fingertips and moved his hand up until rested directly over John's heart. And with each reassuring pump of life source, the tension slowly eased out of Sherlock's body until John felt like there was actually a person spooning him and not a statue. 

They didn't speak, didn't do anything but breathe and feel John's heart beating. It was relaxing in a way that John was not familiar with, having always been the big spoon before. He felt safe in the sense that Sherlock was literally covering his back and John was facing the door so if a threat should present itself John would take care of it. 

And then that moment of safety and security was shattered when Sherlock slotted his freezing cold toes between John's soles. 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ you're feet are cold!" John tried to fling his feet out of the reach of the ice cubes that were Sherlock's toes, but forgot to take into account the fact that Sherlock's legs were longer and could therefore find his own warm feet no matter where John put them. 

"Oh hush and take it like a man." Sherlock chuckled behind him, smirking when John finally relented and let Sherlock warm his cold toes in the cupped arches of John's feet.

"I'll have you know that this is one time occurrence, I will not become the hot water bottle at the end of your bed." John sulked as his precious body heat was being slowly drained away from him by Sherlock’s icicle toes.

"Uh-huh." 

Silence fell between them, and John spared a thought for whether or not Sherlock would actually sleep tonight. Which lead to another thought, which was promptly shut down.

John wasn't going to make this decision tonight. And he wasn't going to over think it.


	2. Streets of Laredo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little more heated up in Master Carlisle's this time round, but how will John and Sherlock react to this new set of stimuli?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooooooooooooooo sorry about the colossal wait for this chapter. I've been beyonf busy in rl and uni and then my health went down the toilet... but things are starting to really improve now, so the next chapter shouldn't be so many months in between. Lol, then again, it could very well be, I'm shit at making promises in regards to posting times.
> 
> I love you all so very very very very much, and thank you for all of your patience. I hope this 17 page long chapter makes it up to you and was worth the wait.
> 
> Edited and beta'd by the amazing Lneible, whom without this wouldn't be as good nor as readable as it is xooxoxo
> 
> xoxoxoxoxoxox

John awoke to the soft, deep sounds of someone calling his name. He muttered something unintelligible but along the general lines of _"Fuck off I'm sleeping"_ , backing up into the incredible source of warmth along his back. But Jesus, whatever was behind him was a _furnace_ ; John wanted to stay cuddled up to it forever.

The furnace tried to call his name again but John ignored it, holding the arm around his waist prisoner to keep the furnace from pulling away.

Ok…

Something about that last thought didn't add up. John let his sleepy brain cells rub together as they tried to figure out the flaw in a furnace having arms.

Right, furnaces didn't _have_ arms.

Then _what the hell_ was John pressed up against!?

Grumbling and mumbling, John released the arm around his waist and flipped his body over in a way that couldn't be described as even remotely graceful. His eyes refused to open, so instead, John buried his head in the possibly-not-a-furnace and scrunched his brow in confusion as his face met warm cotton that smelled of a mix between his laundry detergent, Sherlock, and himself.

He obviously wasn't getting anywhere without the use of sight, so bemoaning his misfortunes, John squinted his eyes open slowly to see just what the very-likely-not-a-furnace actually was.

John was met with a smirking Sherlock.

"Fugkewejerlock." John pushed himself away from a now laughing Sherlock and rolled over, burying his head beneath the duvet as his body curled into the foetal position. 

Sherlock laughed some more before getting out of bed. "It's seven, John. Actually, it was seven a full four minutes ago."

"How kind of you, giving me a full _four_ minutes to sleep in." John didn't give two shits if Sherlock couldn't understand his muffled words beneath the duvet. The duvet that was promptly ripped away from him and thrown on the floor. "Oh that's real mature." John shrunk in on himself to preserve what little warmth was left around him.

"Are you aware that you have a slight murmur in your heart?" Sherlock asked as he stood at the end of the bed looking down at John. His hair… his hair could only be described as a rat's nest. It had past the state of a bird's nest and was just a jumble of tangled curls that John did not even remotely envy right now. 

"I'm a doctor, so yes, I know about the murmur." John made sure a glare was fastened to his face.

"It's non-lethal. Your heart just seems to stall an extra half beat every forth or fifth beat. And in no particular pattern either, you've got no idea how frustrating that is."

"My heart apologises for not having a more rhythmic murmur."

"And are you aware that you've completely ruined the pattern of your heart beat? A heart should have a constant, even beat. Yours speeds up slightly when you breathe in and slows down slightly when you breathe out. And the beats when you breathe out are stronger than the ones when you breathe in."

"Again, doctor, I know."

"I have a theory on how your heart beat became like that."

"And you can tell me all about it when you hand me back the duvet."

Sherlock sat on the bed instead, legs tucked under himself as he continued speaking without giving John the duvet back. "When you were shot from behind, the bullet shattered your scapula and passed through the front of your shoulder; only narrowly avoiding your lungs. You actually got very lucky. But the pain caused from the healing wound made taking deep breaths unbearable. So you adjusted your breathing to be shallower, only taking in as much air as you could comfortably stand. Over an extended period of time, your heart had to adjust to the different intake of air so it began to beat faster when you breathed in to get as much oxygen as possible, then forced the carbon dioxide out as hard as it could in slower beats."

"You’re right." John grumbled as he lugged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. "On all counts. Except, now when I take deep breaths, my lungs feel weird, like they aren't meant to expand that far. It doesn't hurt, just feels strange." 

Sherlock made to follow John into the bathroom to discuss the doctor's heart and respiratory system some more when the bathroom door was firmly shut in his face.

"You would have been allowed in to continue this conversation if you hadn't been a dick and taken my duvet away." John called through the bathroom door, the hush of water sounding as he turned the shower turned on.

Their hot water system took a while to heat up, so Sherlock sat in the chair in his room that happened to conveniently look into the fogged glass door of the bathroom. Through it, he could see John removing his clothes, his blurred image becoming more and more flesh-coloured with every article of clothing removed. "It's my duvet, I can do with it what I want." Sherlock couldn't make out John's scar through the bathroom door, and it annoyed him a bit that such a vital detail was hidden by the fogged glass.

"It's _our_ duvet for as long as we are sharing the same bed." John placed his hand beneath the spray of water and deemed it hot enough to get under. "Now piss off, I want to shower in peace."

\-------------------------------

The day seemed to pass by at a snail’s pace. The violin had been banned the moment Sherlock decided that screeching was a better idea than actual, proper music. Sherlock stole the power cord to the TV next, proclaiming that he couldn't concentrate with all that racket. The rest of the day was spent on failed blog attempts, sulks on the couch, tea, abandoned experiments, forcing Sherlock to eat something, tea, deducing Baker Street pedestrians, tea, and then swearing at John for offering tea some more. All in all, they did anything and everything to avoid bringing up anything that happened the night before and they refused to speculate on what they were going to have to do that night.

The elephant in the room was gagged and blindfolded and, appropriately, dressed in leather.

"So, are you going to dictate what I'm wearing tonight as well?" John asked, emerging from the bathroom squeaky clean and freshly shaven later that evening.

"No point if it's just in front of _Carlisle_. Waste of a perfectly good suit." John smirked at Sherlock’s decision to drop Carlisle's respected title. His flatmate didn't take too kindly to not being perfect at something immediately, and he seemed to be taking his frustrations out on the man who had caused said frustrations, just not to his face, of course. John was ninety-nine percent sure that once they were back in Carlisle's presence again, Sherlock would be referring to him by his 'Master' title again.

"So just wear anything then?" Carlisle didn't seem the kind of man who would judge another man by his personal clothing choices, but his casual elegance made John want to present himself respectably.

"Wear your birthday suit for all I care, John." Sherlock pushed past John into his bedroom. "Just be ready in 45 minutes." All further discussion was ended with the slamming of his door.

"Dramatic prick."

\-------------------------

"Hurry _up_ , John!"

"I'm coming! Keep your knickers on." John came down the stairs dressed in a nice pair of dark jeans, a dark blue short sleeved button-up top and his oatmeal cable knit jumper. With Sherlock's name being cleared and his return from the dead, business had never been better at 221B Baker Street. Which meant that they'd both come into a bit of money. And whilst John had no idea what Sherlock did with his share, John had invested in some new clothing. 

Sherlock took one look at him before scrunching his face in obvious distaste. "Really, John? At least your birthday suit would have been appropriate attire."

"Oh, shut up. If you've got a problem with cable knit then you should have chosen my outfit for me. Now let's go, I don't want to be late."

\----------------------------------------

The cab ride went much the same as the one before it had; spent mostly in silence but with Sherlock glaring at John's jumper this time round.

Master Carlisle was waiting outside for them again, dressed this evening in a midnight black two piece suit, a white dress shirt showing from beneath the jacket. "Right on time." Carlisle greeted John as Sherlock paid for the cab, shaking his hand warmly. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too." The memory of their last conversation was still a bit sour with John, but he couldn't fault the man on the valid points he had raised.

"Would you believe me if I said I have that same jumper?" Carlisle asked as he swiped his card through the control panel.

John laughed, shaking his head minutely. "No, I honestly wouldn't. But I'd name my first born after you if you wore it tomorrow, give Sherlock a bit of a fright to see someone else with the same taste in jumpers."

Said man walked right between the two blondes and straight through the now open doors.

"Manners the same, then." Carlisle observed, giving John a sideways look.

"Worse, actually. He's sulking right now." John followed Carlisle into the building towards an impatient Sherlock waiting by the lift.

"Ah, yes. Mycroft did mention something along the lines of 'epic sulking'."

"It's not going to interfere with any of…this, is it?" John asked, mentally forming the _"buck up"_ talk he'd have to give Sherlock.

"No, no. Not at all. Probably for the best, really. Guide you through the sulk and all that should something of a similar nature happen in _Controversial_."

John nodded as they got into the elevator together, barely containing his smirk over Sherlock's current expression that clearly showed the detective had obviously caught some of that conversation.

"Now boys," Carlisle clapped his hands together as they left the lift and he swiped them into his office. "We won't be merely pecking each other on the lips today. At that rate you'd _maybe_ get into my club in about a year or two. _Maybe_. But seeing as we simply don't have that kind of time on our hands, you two are going to get a _real_ crash course in one of my personal BDSM favourites, _shibari_."

"Boring. Predictable." Sherlock complained, folding his arms and looking outside the floor to ceiling windows behind Carlisle's desk.

"So you've dabbled in _shibari_ before then, Sherlock? Know all the knots and what _knot_?" Carlisle looked at John, raising an eyebrow to see if his joke was heard and appreciated. John found the little biddy bids of rolled up wool fibres on his sleeves all of a sudden very interesting. 

"A case I once had involved a strange pattern of rope burns left on a series of victims with interesting bruising and blood pooling. It turned out that a _shibari_ master was-"

"Sorry Sherlock," Carlisle interrupted. "I don't actually like all that gruesome…stuff. So I'm going to presume that you learnt the art form but never participated in wearing the rope."

"Of course I wore the rope. I didn't have anybody else to practice on, so I reconstructed the mix of burns and bruising on myself and discovered that the suspect was using _shibari_ to restrain his victims then suspended them from-"

"Again. Don't like the gory stuff."

Sherlock looked to John whose attention was solely focused on the detective. "I'll tell you later." Sherlock promised, John smiled at him then turned back to look at Carlisle.

"Really? I'll have to look into making an event out of that. Put you up on the main stage and have you tying yourself up then John can come in and… sorry, got a bit excited. It's not every day you meet somebody able to tie himself up like this. Well, not somebody outside of the scene anyway." Carlisle walked over to his desk and picked up a length of black rope and a picture detailing a basic _shibari_ knot formation. "We'll just start with the basics for now, but if John brings out some serious mad knotting skills then we can move on to something more complicated. I treated this rope myself to make sure that it's extra soft and won't leave any permanent damage. You may end up with a few bruises, Sherlock, but nothing that won't fade away in a couple of days. And you'll definitely get rope burn if you move around too much, so that's completely on you." Carlisle threw the rope to John, who caught it without a second thought, put the laminated picture of the _shibari_ knots under his arm and clapped, grinning at the two other men broadly. "Right! Down to your pants, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes opened a smidge wider with shock before sending a scowl at Carlisle as he stripped down to his pants, folding his clothes neatly, placing them on the arm of the couch.

Now John had seen Sherlock fairly bare before, none of this was new, since the man liked to wear sheets about the flat pantless for Christ's sake. But there was something different about all that known pale flesh being revealed this time that was significantly…new. He put it down to the fact that he was seeing skin that he was about to bind with rope that caused this weird feeling.

Sherlock seemed to be down to his pants far too quickly in John's personal opinion.

"Right, John, undo the rope then come over here and we can begin." Carlisle smiled politely at them both, stepping closer to Sherlock with all the wariness of someone stalking an unpredictable animal.

John had always been good with knots. From boy scouts right through to his time in the army. He could remember how to form them, how to make them tight and most important of all, how to undo them. So as Carlisle guided him through the formations of the basic _shibari_ structures, it all made sense and it was easy to absorb. Of course he fumbled in a few places; some of his knots were too tight, some too loose, he'd dropped the rope a couple times too, but on the whole, he got it. Sherlock had grumbled the whole time too, complaining, pointing out how incompetent John was and _blah blah blah_. John had learned to tune him out years ago, so it didn't bother him that much.

Carlisle, on the other hand, was beyond amused. It was like dealing with a fully grown toddler. But as he watched John ignore Sherlock for the most part, only listening to the bound man when he had helpful advice to offer, Carlisle was confident that John would be able to navigate any future sulks that might take place in his club. "That was a great first try, John." Carlisle then went through all of the small flaws in his knots, getting Sherlock to wriggle around a bit to show John what loose and tight knots meant for the person wearing them. "Now do it again, and just ask for my help when you need it."

To John's testament, he only asked for help on one of the knots that looped close to Sherlock's throat, not comfortable with having rope that close to the man's windpipe. Carlisle showed him another formation that sat around the clavicles instead, and John seemed much more at ease as he undid all of his knots to do them again in the new formation. 

When Carlisle inspected this set of knots, John had improved drastically, the knots all sat snug against Sherlock's pale skin, tension perfect. Carlisle got Sherlock to try leaning forward and backwards and showed John that when Sherlock moved backwards the knots on the front of his body tightened, relaxing when he straightened back up and visa-versa. "Now do it without any of my help, or Sherlock's."

John breezed through the _shibari_ knots, confident in the knowledge that he wasn't hurting Sherlock, merely restraining him.

John stood back from Sherlock when he had finished to admire his hard work. Two double lengths of dark rope crossed Sherlock's chest, one below and one above the line of his nipples. The very centre of the length of rope was knotted to sit in the middle of the lower rope crossing his pale chest, going upwards to knot with the rope above that as well before splitting off and threading through the two loops of rope that came up across Sherlock's shoulder blades. This was the new technique Master Carlisle had taught John to ensure that there wouldn't even be a remote chance of Sherlock accidentally choking himself.

From there the single lengths of rope came back down, twisting under and over the double lengths crossing Sherlock's chest to create a small zig-zag right down to Sherlock's crotch where they waited in a sturdy make-shift knot to keep the rest of the rope in place until Carlisle told John what to do with the rest of the rope.

Those single lengths of rope also twisted under and over two other lengths of doubled rope that ran across Sherlock's lower torso, one above and one below his navel. The single lengths were set up so that they started wide at Sherlock's shoulders then tapered inwards towards his crotch, drawing the eye south no matter where John tried to look, the dark black thin lines tantalising above the creamy white of Sherlock's skin.

But John's eye frequently travelled to the centre of Sherlock's torso, where a large portion of his skin was unhindered by rope. John watched as Sherlock took a breath in then out, the flat planes on his stomach rising and falling with his breath.

It was hypnotic.

John knew that the _shibari_ formation that Master Carlisle had just taught was simple, supremely so. But it didn’t stop the way that such a dark pitch of rope stood out so _completely_ from Sherlock's alabaster skin. 

As he pulled the rope straight and taut down the lower half of Sherlock's torso to cross between the man's legs Carlisle stopped him with a firm but gentle hand on John's arm. "Time to kick things up a notch." Carlisle smiled and a sense of dread formed low in John's gut. "If you could be so kind as to remove Sherlock's pants and I'll show you how to safely bind a man's erection and bollocks."

John's jaw fell open. 

Sherlock began to squirm in his ropes, angling to get free.

Carlisle dealt with them both swiftly and efficiently, grabbing a cross-section of knots along Sherlock's back and pulling them together in a fist, effectively immobilising the struggling detective then he turned to speak to John. "I did say we had to move things along if we ever want to get you two in my club at a pace a little faster than a snail. So that means cocks. And bollocks. And eventually you'll bugger your flatmate and won't that just be a delightful thing to recount over breakfast." Sherlock began struggling again in earnest, so Carlisle pulled the knots even tighter in his fists until the ropes dug into Sherlock's flesh painfully, relaxing his hold again only when Sherlock stopped moving. "I know I am asking a lot from the both of you. Believe me, I _know_. But there are people going missing. People I know, people I've known for years, and people I have been physically intimate with. People I promised to protect…" Carlisle closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, sagging with grief before building himself back up again, breathing deep and locking his eyes back on John, strong once more. "This club isn't just a place where you can whip or be whipped. It's a safe environment for people to let go and be themselves. To escape from their daily troubles, drop masks of societal expectations, and relax with people who share the same interests with them. It's a _safe_ environment. And some absolute _arsehole_ thinks it's ok to just come charging in and _abuse_ that trust I have spent years of my life building. To lure away those whose interests seem adulterated but intentions are pure of cruelty. All I ask is that you two put the physical aspects of all of this to the side of your minds and focus on the emotional connection that already exists between you two so that we can catch this _fucker_ and reinforce justice."

A tense silence enveloped the room.

John thought about Carlisle's words intensely. He could do this. He could put aside the physical aspects of… of all of _this_ , and see the end goal and the end goal only: to catch a criminal. He could _do_ this.

It took a lot less for Sherlock to convince himself that he could do this. He merely treated it as every other case he had ever worked on, only his transport was a little more _involved_ this time round is all. _Easy._

John slid his gaze from Carlisle to Sherlock, only to find Sherlock was already looking at him. Within a heart beat they both nodded, John moving forward to ease Sherlock's pants down his long pale legs. They'd run through the streets of London handcuffed to one another, taken on psychotic enemies with bombs, not to mention snipers, Golems, and rooftops. This was nothing in their history together.

"Thank you." Carlisle exhaled, releasing the knots and stepping back a bit. "Now, you can form these next knots with him flaccid, but should he grow hard it's going to be supremely uncomfortable for him. It's a form of Cock and Ball Torture to tie these knots flaccid so when he gets hard and his erectile tissue expands the ropes that are already tight become very painful and it all ends up being an endurance match for the one tied up to remain flaccid for his own comfort. But since that’s not something I can see either of you getting off on, we’ll tie the ropes with Sherlock erect. This way it will work in the same manner as a cock ring and, in my personal opinion, will look rather striking. I've always loved dark rope on pale skin." Carlisle explained as John completely removed Sherlock's pants and stood back up to face Carlisle, effectively not looking at the source of their conversation just yet. Letting out a sigh, Carlisle moved to go sit on the comfy couch facing away from the other men. "Just give me a shout when he's good and hard. And make it some time before Christmas preferably."

"Right." John nodded before stiffening his body into a parade's rest. "So do you want to… or shall I…" John looked pointedly at Sherlock's face as he asked this.

"Well seeing as my hands are currently tied behind my back, John…"

"Right. You're right." John dropped his head slightly, to frown at Sherlock's collarbones. "Just… let me know if it gets to be, too… much."

Sherlock merely nodded. "I'd prefer to kneel, I tend to find my ability to balance becomes practically non-existent in…situations, such as these."

"Ok." John helped Sherlock down to his knees, also opting to kneel with the man. Now that they were down here though, John froze, uncertain what to do. Did he go straight for his goal and just whack Sherlock off until he was hard enough to bind? Or did he initiate a bit of foreplay first? Did he kiss Sherlock, or was that crossing a line far too early? Did he try to-

"I suggest getting to know Sherlock's body whilst you have the opportunity, John. Find his sensitive spots so you know what to either avoid or target for future reference." Carlisle suggested from his seat on the couch. When John looked over at him from his position kneeling on the ground he could see the glow of a mobile screen illuminating the man's face. Most likely playing _Candy Crush_ again.

"Right." John turned back to glaring at Sherlock's collar bones. His clavicle really did stick out more than it should; Sherlock was far too lean for John's liking. Reaching out, John touched the hollow between Sherlock's collar bones. John felt the detective’s muscles jump at the contact before forcefully relaxing. Sliding his fingers across the line of Sherlock's clavicle, gliding over rope where it interrupted his path, John watched as Sherlock's skin broke out in goosebumps. He made his touch even lighter, teasing the raised flesh and storing Sherlock's collar bones away under a 'sensitive area' to come back to. His mind supplied Sherlock's ribs as the next area to assault because they stood out far too prominently for John's liking as well. He ran his fingers along the bumps of ribs and rope and goosebumps, frowning and examining further where he could feel remodelled bone beneath thin skin. "These weren't here before…" He brought his other hand up and examined the other side of Sherlock’s ribs, finding remodelling there as well. "When did this happen Sherlock?"

"How could you possibly know when my ribs broke by feeling them through several layers of epidermis?" Sherlock's tone suggested that whilst John was a fantastic doctor, he wasn't _that_ fantastic. 

"After the _Study in Pink_ I got your medical records from Mycroft, you knob. The only damage you had to your ribs before…well, before, was a hairline fracture to your third rib down - here," John slid his hand around to Sherlock's back and let it sit over said rib where the break had healed over long ago. "When you fell out of a tree as a kid and landed awkwardly. So _when_ did this happen?" John asked, moving his hands back around to freshly remodelled bone.

"You know perfectly well when it happened." Sherlock snapped.

"I wouldn't get peevish with the man whose literally about to lay his hands on your genitals." John warned, satisfied with the silence he got in response. "Are the people who did this at least dead?"

"Thoroughly."

"Good." John wondered if it was a _'bit not good'_ that he was content with that particular loss of life, but honestly, he couldn't give two shits about anybody who harmed Sherlock. 

John wouldn't be able to able to recall what thought provoked his next actions, but the next moment he found himself brushing his thumbs over Sherlock's flat nipples.

Sherlock gasped, eyes widening as he sought reassurance from his stalwart blogger, lips staying parted slightly as his breaths became shallow and quick.

An apology was right on the forefront of John's tongue, along with his willingness to remove his hands and check to see if Sherlock was alright with what had just happened. But that would be progress in the opposite direction of what they needed. So John did it again and again, watching Sherlock’s reactions closely and preparing for damage control.

However, Sherlock seemed to be baffled by his own reaction to John's thumbs on his nipples. The sensation itself wasn't that remarkable. Mildly pleasurable, but not even near enough to cause arousal. And yet, Sherlock felt that exhilarating spark low in his belly. Knew it to be arousal and focused intently on it and what was actually causing it in the first place. He gasped again when he found the source of the arousal, closing his eyes to test his findings. The arousal dimmed a bit, but didn't fade entirely, and when he opened his eyes once more, his gaze centring on John, he figured it out. It wasn’t the fact that someone was touching him in an intimate way. _John_ was touching him in an intimate manner. Sherlock shuddered in his incomplete bindings, his balance giving out so that he sat on his folded legs beneath him.

John followed him down, his hands leaving Sherlock's chest to wrap around his middle and support him as they shifted about each other to find a more comfortable position. 

"You weren't bloody kidding about the sensitivity, were you?" John posed the question rhetorically as they settled, finally coming to rest with John seated leaning back against the couch where Master Carlisle was sitting, Sherlock reclining back into John's chest.

Sherlock's arms were tied behind his back, his arms folded so that his elbows bent comfortably at a ninety degree angle, forearms crossing over his mid-spine. This meant that Sherlock came to rest a bit lower between John's legs with his arms resting against John's stomach, the most comfortable position for them both. 

John didn't waste any time, running the tips of his fingers firmly over the plains of Sherlock's abdomen, bumping over the rope. He could feel the muscles beneath Sherlock's skin clench wherever he touched, but other than that his reaction was minimal. 

So John softened his touch. Barely touching Sherlock at all, tracing the same paths of his firmer touches.

He got a reaction this time.

Sherlock's skin broke out in goosebumps once more, the man gasping as he pushed his body towards John's touch. Sherlock rolled his spine to push himself up into John's hands more firmly, John never let his fingers press onto Sherlock's skin more than a feather’s weight. John watched as Sherlock's body shuddered beneath the delicate contact of his fingers, straining against the bindings to push himself closer to John's touch before slumping back against John's body with the seeming onset of exhaustion. Following Sherlock's retreat, John started tracing precise patterns this time, ready to keep his touch light.

Up, tracing over recently broken ribs.

Inwards, arching around and over hardened nipples.

Outwards, then down, along collarbones that protrude far more than John likes.

Down, down, fingers spread as wide as they can go, down, the plane of alabaster abdomen.

Hands turning, fingers pointed south, digits moving closer together to avoid twitching interest.

Down still, skimming milky thighs as far as possible in their current position.

Curl around wiry muscle to the outside of lean thighs, then up, up.

Repeat.

John lost count of how many times he traced this continuous loop. But every time he passed around Sherlock's groin, he could see the man's erection thicken and harden with growing arousal. 

When Sherlock was fully hard, head turned to press into John's left bicep, John altered his trailing path. Once he had reached as far as he could down Sherlock's inner thighs, John dragged his fingertips back up. His delicate touch skated over neatly shaved testicles and up Sherlock's erection, curling around the covered head then back down. John limited his touch to Sherlock's genitals only, listening to Sherlock choke on his own breath. "He's hard, Master Carlisle. But I don't think he can stand." John spoke for what felt like the first time in a small eon, moving his fingers to pull Sherlock's foreskin down and expose the silky head beneath.

Carlisle hummed his acknowledgement. "I have a feeling that Sherlock is a wee bit beyond hearing right now, yet his sight is likely still fully functional. Would you be so kind as to test that theory for me?" Carlisle made no attempt to move from his position on the couch.

"Sherlock." John called softly. When he didn't get any response, John said his name a little louder. "Sherlock."

"No need for alarm, John. Just tilt his head towards you to see if he can still see you." Carlisle explained, sensing the panic that was growing within the ex-army doctor.

"Sherlock." John called once more without response, before lifting his right hand from the man's crotch and gently turning Sherlock’s face towards him. Sherlock was completely zoned out, his eyes glassy and breaths shallow.

When John came into his vision Sherlock blinked slowly, taking in the profile of his best friend. He let a twitch of a smile pass through his open lips and was pleased when John smiled back down at him. He saw John's lips move to speak and the sound of John's voice but couldn't be bothered to lip-read or make sense of the muffled rumble that was John, instead he moved his head back around to press into John's arm once more. Why didn't he want to listen to John? Why couldn't he hear properly? It didn't matter, as long as John kept his hands on his cock.

"He's responding visually, but why can't he hear me?" John asked Carlisle, continuing to tease Sherlock's cock and balls.

"It happens sometimes. Both to those who are hypersensitive and those who are not. In occasions where one of your senses are overloaded another may fall out, temporarily of course. He can probably hear the sound of your voice right now, but lacks the energy and will to actually _listen_ to what you are saying. Now I'm not going to leave my seat here, because I know that if Sherlock sees me right now he'll leave the mind space he is currently in and any further progress to be made will be severely hampered. But I can pretty much assure you that you will not be tying him up like this in my club due to the difficulty of continuing a scene from here. Instead, whilst he is still restrained, I suggest you give him his first orgasm from you. Take your time. Do what feels natural. Just focus on him in your arms and if you have any questions at all about his wellbeing please ask them. Otherwise I'm going to stay sitting here trying my best to not throw my phone at the wall due to a stupid game. Fuck level 275." Carlisle grumbled, going back to his _Candy Crush_. "Seriously, I should have listened to my secretary when she told me not to download it."

John's hands had never left Sherlock's erection, teasing and stroking to keep the man hard, slipping down occasionally to toy with his balls. "Do you have any lube?"

Master Carlisle reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and held his arm over and behind his head so John could take the lube from him. "Bloody stupid time bomb things with only three moves to get rid of them. How the hell am I supposed to clear all the jelly when I'm bloody worried about the time bombs?" Carlisle grumbled.

John reached up and took the lubricant from Carlisle's hand. He had to remove his hands from Sherlock's groin to uncap the small tube and John's eyebrows shot up at Sherlock's near instant reaction to the lack of stimuli. 

It took Sherlock's fogged brain a second to realise that John had stopped touching him, then another entire second to react. His body surged as far as it could within his constraints, his pelvis tilting as high as it could. "John! John…" Sherlock turned his face from John's arm into the side of his neck.

"It's alright." John tried to calm, slicking his hands with lubricant as rapidly as he could.

Sherlock moaned long and low once John's hands were on him again, slick and cold. His body relaxed visibly, leaning back into John as much as he could. "John…" The word was only just audible.

John picked this incredibly convenient moment to have himself a wee sexual identity crisis. 

"I can't do this."

"Yes you can!" Carlisle cheered on in his best Obama impression.

"No, I can't." John removed his slick hands from Sherlock's very hard erection, immediately wrapping his arms firmly around Sherlock when he bucked with the lack of stimuli.

"And that, my friend, is why you can. If not for the pure pleasure of getting an outrageously sexy man off, then to simply put him out of his misery." Carlisle glared at his phone as he placed I beside him on the couch, needing his full attention to attack this issue head on.

"That's just the thing, I don't know if I can get a man off."

"How is making a woman orgasm any different then making a man orgasm? Bits aside, sex should be about wanting to bring somebody you care about intense pleasure. And intense pleasure can be brought about in many different ways. I know this couple, she's asexual and he is most certainly sexual. They hug and kiss but she really can't find the pleasure in meshing body parts, so she doesn't. Instead, she tells him how to get off. Whether he should go slower or faster whilst he strokes his own cock, to increase the pressure until it's unbearable or make it so light it's maddening. And that's sex for them. And I don’t think I've ever met a couple more in love. Sex isn't about whether you've got innies or outies, it's about connecting with the person you're going to bump uglies with. Or, not bump uglies with, if that's not your thing. So stop making it about the fact that Sherlock has a cock, and start making it about wanting to be the person that brings such complete pleasure to the man in front of you that his ever whirring brain goes off line for a few seconds."

When John merely stayed silent, Carlisle only able to hear Sherlock's desperate please for John to keep touching him, he sighed and picked up his phone again, continuing this infernal game.

"And think of the bragging rights. One of the very few people to ever bring Sherlock Holmes, the world's _only_ Consulting Detective, down to a one thought status."

Carlisle smiled long and hard when Sherlock shouted at having John's hands where he needed them again.

John didn't want to drag this out. Not because he wanted to get his hands off Sherlock, but because seeing Sherlock this… this _wanton_ , it made him want Sherlock to come quickly because he didn't think the man could handle any form of teasing right now.

He kept his stokes firm, the lube making his fist slide easily up and down a cock that was so hard John could really see where the term 'boner' originated from. Every second stroke upwards John would swipe his thumb around the silky head of Sherlock's cock, Sherlock's breath hitching and his head moving from side to side.

Sherlock's orgasm was a full body affair. He tensed up, his limbs drawing inwards then rolling outwards in smooth constant motions. He gripped at John's jumper where his hands were bound behind his back, flexing his fingers then gripped again. His eyes squeezed shut, small, desperate 'mm's forcing their way through lips that were bitten together. Then, his eyes flew wide open as breathy moans filled the air, his cock twitching as John milked him, come hitting his stomach and painting the black ropes. 

John watched it all, taking everything in. Sherlock's come was thick, the man clearly not having gotten off in a while. He could see patches of skin that were mildly abraded beneath the ropes where Sherlock had struggled against them, despite John's careful binding. He watched as Sherlock's toes curled inwards, clenching tight, before stretching out and repeating the process again. Sherlock was drenched in sweat, his breathing shallow and quick. John eased Sherlock through the rest of his orgasm, releasing the man when he had finished.

Carlisle flipped a small hand towel over his head, hitting John in the forehead with it.

John didn't even care. He took the towel gladly, wiping the lube and come from his hands then throwing the towel away to hold Sherlock tight.

Sherlock's shoulders jerked violently outwards ever other second and John started to get worried when it didn't seem to stop or slow down.

"He's fine, John. When his heart beats fast and strong, it's giving him a bit of a fright. Once his heart rate goes back to normal the jerking will stop."

"Seen a lot of this before then?" John wrapped his left arm around Sherlock's waist, using his right to push Sherlock's sweaty curls from his forehead.

"Only on the really sensitive ones. Scared the shit out of me the first time I ever saw it happen. Thought the poor girl was having a seizure or something. She was the one who explained it all to me afterwards. God I love the sensitive ones."

They sat in silence for several minutes, Carlisle with his head resting back against the couch, John soothing Sherlock.

"If you can, start undoing the binds." Carlisle suggested.

"Not necessary." Sherlock's voice was so deep it was practically all a rumbling vibration.

John made a mental note to one day record Sherlock's post-sex-voice and set it as Lestrade's text alert. Then he'd get Sherlock to make it so Lestrade wouldn't be able to remove it or change any of the settings. Oh the trouble they'd get into.

"And prey tell, why is it not necessary?" Carlisle asked, smirk pulling at his lips.

"Because I can do it myself." Sherlock turned to press his face into John's neck as he worked at undoing the notes.

"By all means." John replied, raising his hands into the air in surrender. He didn't leave them up there for long though, dropping them back down to rest on Sherlock's thigh. "Seriously though, when was the last time you got off? Your spunk is ridiculously thick."

"Ninety-eight days ago. It was a slow week."

John laughed, turning his head to press a kiss to dark, damp curls.

\----------------------

It took Sherlock a while, his fingers being damp with sweat and his body lethargic and doped up on reward chemicals from sexual release, but he got all of the knots undone and shed the black rope proudly. Carlisle gave a slow clap of appreciation to which he replied with an over-exaggerated bow.

"You should orgasm more often. You're much more fun like this." John smirked as he handed Sherlock a warm flannel to wipe first his face then his stomach with. 

"Ha ha." Sherlock threw the flannel at John's face, laughing as John recoiled in horror, tearing the cloth away gagging.

Sherlock dressed himself, then pulled on his coat, straightening the lapels and wiping imaginary dust away from his arms. "Can we go now?"

Carlisle smiled waiting for John to pull his jacket on before showing them out. "Homework still applies, you have to sleep in the same bed with physical contact. But other than that, you are free men."

Carlisle watched them climb into the cab he had called for them then stayed politely outside until the car drove away. His smile dropped the moment the cab was out of sight and he looked up into the night sky. "Good luck, John. Sherlock was hiding something."

\----------------------------

Sherlock sat closer to John than usual in the cab, but John hardly noticed, his gaze on the London nightlife outside.

Everything was fine as they climbed up the stairs to 221B John smiling at how Master Carlisle had paid the fare in advance.

And everything continued to be fine as John told Sherlock to take the first shower and wash the night from him properly, having a shower himself when Sherlock was finished.

Then everything stopped being fine the moment John walked out of the bathroom, dressed in his pyjama bottoms and old tee, scrubbing the towel through his hair. He looked up and saw Sherlock shaking, his body wracked with tremors. The towel was dropped to the floor as John rushed to his flatmate's side.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John pressed the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead, sighing with relief that he couldn't detect an elevated temperature. "Tell me what's wrong, Sherlock."

But John didn't get an answer. Sherlock pulled him down onto the bed, proceeding to curl up on John's lap. With Sherlock on him like this, John could see that he wasn't shaking, he was crying. 

John didn't know what to do. How could he know? Sherlock had been fine just moments before. Strangely optimistic, but fine. "It's alright, Sherlock. Everything's fine. You're safe. You're fine." John tried to calm, placing his hands on Sherlock's trembling shoulders.

Sherlock jerked John's hands from his person violently, the moment they had left his body he threw himself back down into John's lap, taking tight fistfuls of the doctor's pyjama pants.

"Alright, I won't touch you." John got the message loud and clear. Sherlock wanted the comfort John seemed to bring, he just wasn't into being touched at the moment. Completely understandable. "You're fine now. You're safe."

Wanting to soothe Sherlock, but not being able to touch, John sang the lullaby his father had sung to him as a boy that always worked in calming him down.

_As I walked out on the streets of Laredo_  
 _As I walked out on Laredo one day,_  
 _I spied a young cowboy, all wrapped in white linen_  
 _Wrapped in white linen, as cold as the clay._  
 _So beat the drums slowly, and play the fife lowly,_  
 _Play the dead march as you carry me along._  
 _Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o’er me,_  
 _For I’m a young cowboy, and I know I’ve done wrong._

He repeated it over and over again, glad for Sherlock's lack of popular knowledge that he wouldn't recognise this as a Jonny Cash song and would just believe that it was a lullaby. It worked in the sense that Sherlock stopped crying, his body losing the tension it held with every line sung, slowly sagging on top of John's lap.

John continued to repeat the partial stanza of _'Streets of Laredo'_ , swearing to himself that he'd look up the rest of the lyrics tomorrow, but knowing that he wouldn't. He didn't need the rest of this song, he just needed the one part his father had taught him.

Risking it all, John gingerly lifted a hand up and placed his hand on Sherlock's head. Sherlock didn't move so John assumed it was welcome. He carded his fingers through the thick and still damp curls and kept singing, noticing the exhaustion that came after a good cry work its way through Sherlock's system.

His butt had gone numb though, so moving slowly John repositioned them until John was lying down completely, his left arm around Sherlock as the man used his shoulder and chest for a pillow. Sherlock lifted his left hand up and placed it over John's sternum to feel the comforting beat of John's heart against his palm.

John stopped singing the moment he was sure Sherlock was safely asleep, and he sighed as he turned off the lamp and settled into sleep himself, still unaware of Sherlock's complete nudity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was worth the wait!!!!
> 
> If you liked it the please **KUDOS** , and if you _really_ like it then please **COMMENT**!!! And as always, criticism is more than welcome. I wanna hear your guys thoughts on this as much as I can!!!! I can't improve if you don'y get involved. Just don't be mean, my fragile ginger heart can only take so much *swoons*
> 
> -Glow  
> xoxoxoxoxoxoox


	3. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can we just pretend last night never happened?" Sherlock pleaded, knowing already that he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted.
> 
> "Fat chance." John sat on the end of the bed and looked out the door of Sherlock's room. "You can either tell me what happened last night now or we can bask in the awkwardness for a moment longer before you tell me. Either way, Sherlock Holmes, you are telling me what exactly that was last night."
> 
> Sherlock raised his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead to the tops of his patella. Closing his eyes, Sherlock hugged his arms around his legs. "It was too much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaye~ Look at that, I'm getting better at posting chapters, lol. I have a feeling that the next chapter is gunna be a bitch though, I kind of set myself up for that though with this chapter... you'll find out what I mean once you read this, LOL.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it and I really am sorry for the colossal waits between each chapter, but I've got a lot of shit going n in my life at the moment and am to trying to juggle a lot of things. Go over to my tumblr to stay up to date the my progress and other shit too https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art xoxoxoxoxoox
> 
> OMWARDS!!!!!!!!!

John woke slowly.

It was one of those awakenings where he just didn't want the day to start quite yet. So John kept his eyes closed and tried to fall back into slumber.

And he would have. John would have fallen back soundly into sleep.

But he had forgotten that he was currently sharing a bed with Sherlock Holmes. 

"Was it your father or your mother that sang you that lullaby?"

"Dad." John grumbled out. Sherlock was going to take away his ability to be even remotely a morning person.

"… It is surprisingly effective at calming one down."

"I'm aware." John gave up trying to catch anymore sleep, scrunching his eyes before opening them. "Why are you on top of me?"

Sherlock had gone from being in the crook of John's arm last night to completely on top of him. He was heavier than he looked, which pleased the doctor in John. "I woke up like this and every time I went to move off of you you'd start to wake up. So the most logical solution was to just stay on top of you until you woke up on your own accord."

"Most logical…" John sighed before speaking again. "Well I'm awake now, and have a full bladder…."

"Right, ok." Sherlock nodded to himself as he rolled off of John, watching the shorter man rub his eyes fiercely before getting up to stagger to the bathroom.

When John came back out, he was greeted to the sight of Sherlock sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, head hanging low. At that moment John became _very_ aware of the fact that beneath that duvet Sherlock was naked. Very, very naked.

"Can we just pretend last night never happened?" Sherlock pleaded, knowing already that he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted.

"Fat chance." John sat on the end of the bed and looked out the door of Sherlock's room. "You can either tell me what happened last night now or we can bask in the awkwardness for a moment longer before you tell me. Either way, Sherlock Holmes, you are telling me what exactly that was last night."

Sherlock raised his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead to the tops of his patella. Closing his eyes, Sherlock hugged his arms around his legs. "It was too much."

John had to strain to hear those four small words. "I don't understand; you were fine after. I mean, your shoulders were jolting along with your heartbeat, but you were fine after that. Better than fine even. What happened?"

"I wasn't fine, all right!" Sherlock shouted, looking the other way when John turned to seek eye contact. "It was too much. It was too much and the only way I could cope with it at the time was to pretend that everything was ok. I thought that if I could just keep pretending that everything was all right- that everything was ok… then it would be." Sherlock drew his limbs as close to his body as he physically could, determined to not let even an atom penetrate the sanctuary his limbs were creating. "But I was wrong." The words came out choked, small, the sound threatening that a continuation of this topic would result in Sherlock either storming out or crying again. And John had a feeling that his annual 'Witness Sherlock Cry' card was well and truly used up.

John felt awful.

He had done that to Sherlock.

And he had thought that everything had been _fine._

How could he have been so _blind?_

"I- I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." He wanted to pull Sherlock into his arms. Stop the man who was trying to self-combust only a metre away from him from crumbling even further. But he knew that any form of physical contact with Sherlock right now would be _very_ not good. "Was it… was it something specific that I did? Because if it was, please tell me now so I know never to do it again."

Sherlock let out a choked off laugh, the smile on his face anything but pleasant. "It wasn't you, John." Sherlock's smile softened a bit as he turned his head to look at his flatmate and best friend. "I just…I really don't like other people touching me--like that. It doesn't appeal to me. _At all._ " He turned his head once more to break the eye contact John seemed so persistent to make and _keep._ "I thought it would be easier with you. And it was. I actually came, that's a feat on its own."

John laughed, a release of nervous energy. "So you enjoyed yourself, but you didn't."

"Simply put." Sherlock slid his eyes to the right and caught John's gaze, then they were both laughing.

"Oh god, Sherlock. What the hell are we going to do?"

"Well I could finally become telepathic and just read the minds of everyone in the club until I found the suspect then you could knock him out cold." Sherlock suggested, releasing the death hold he had on his legs to something a bit looser that allowed blood flow.

"Good idea. But I was thinking of something a little more plausible." John's smile turned heartbreaking the longer he looked at Sherlock. "Seriously, Sherlock. What are we going to do?"

Sherlock was silent for a long while, John patient as he waited for the man to speak. "…What you did last night when we got home--that was good."

"So I just have to wait until you fall apart every night we do this then try and put you back together again? Sing you calm every time you start cracking around the edges?"

"I'm sorry this is so trying on you, John. I'll try to keep that in mind next time you bring me to an _unwanted_ orgasm."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." John scrubbed his hands over his face, letting them fall limp into his lap when that did nothing but rark him up more. Breathing in deep, John held his breath for three seconds, exhaling for seven more before speaking. "That can't be good for you, Sherlock. Breaking apart like that. There's only so much fixing I can do before it becomes impossible to fix you anymore."

The silence that stretched between them was suffocating.

John was stuck in a loop of _How can I fix this?_ , not being able to come up with even a semblance of an answer. Not even a short term solution.

Sherlock's mind was strangely quiet. But his determination to hide this from John became tenfold. He'd be ok for John. Even if it wasn't true. He was good at disguises, an emotional disguise couldn't be much harder than a physical one.

"Today's Friday. We'll go to Master Carlisle tonight, and then we have the weekend to figure this out, ok? And if we can't figure it out then we won't be doing this case, Mycroft calling in a favour or not. I'm not risking your health over some fucked up stranger. Your mental health especially. Mycroft can work the case himself if it’s so important to him. I won't compromise on this Sherlock. I won't." John sighed audibly, standing to go back towards the bathroom to shower and shave. "I care about you far too much to watch you fall apart."

\----------------------------

John showered, the water a little hotter than it usually was.

He scrubbed his body down a little harder than he usually did too. 

He even dried his body a little more vigorously than he usually did.

And the less said about the way he dried his hair, the better.

John wrapped his towel more forcefully around his waist than necessary, bringing the slight layer of softness around his middle into relief. His shaving cream he rubbed onto his face a little more calmly. An angry shave would just end in shaving cuts. And those fuckers never stopped bleeding. 

Face shaved and smooth, John slapped on some aftershave, washed his hands, then prodded the bags beneath his eyes and thought about all the things in his life that put them there. He mentally added 'BDSM with your best friend' to the list.

Handsome as always, John brushed his teeth with his mind made up. If they were going to continue this, if they made it to Monday and were going to keep on with this case that seemed like it would expand into a lifetime, and it very possibly could, then John was going to be there for Sherlock entirely. And everything that went with that statement. If they made it to Monday, and were going to keep on with this case, then Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were going to do this _together._ Not being there for Sherlock during this simply wasn't an option.

He'd ask Sherlock out properly on Monday. If they were going to continue with this. Things would be easier on them both if John could be there for Sherlock in the way a life partner could be. Doing small couple-y things could help cement the fact that their relationship was far more than what they did together in Carlisle's office and in his clubs.

On Monday, if they were going to go through with this case, John would take Sherlock out to Angelo's for dinner. It seemed the only restaurant that made sense, seeing as it held a lot of sentimentality for John in regards to Sherlock. Then he'd take the mad genius out for a walk in the park, explain his reasoning behind wanting to start…dating Sherlock.

No.

If John just came right out and said that the only reason he wanted to be in a relationship with Sherlock was because John felt that that was the easiest way to keep him sane and grounded…it might come off a _bit_ not good.

But until this case, John had never thought about Sherlock in _that way_. John wasn't gay.

Sherlock was an attractive man, there was no doubt about that in John’s mind. He'd have to be blind to not find those cheekbones appealing. And once a blind man put fingertips to those chiselled cheekbones, even _the blind_ would fall in love with Sherlock's handsome qualities. 

And he'd learned over time to love Sherlock in what he was beginning to realize could be considered a romantic way. He had already loved the man platonically for years, and he realized he was learning to love him romantically too. The physical aspects of what they were doing would aid the transformation of those platonic feelings into becoming romantic with good old-fashioned intimacy.

Except Sherlock wasn't a big fan of physical intimacy.

But that was fine. John could work with that too.

John Watson could fall in love with Sherlock Holmes.

They already acted like an old married couple. Completely unintentional on John's part. And John had a suspicious feeling that it was completely intentional on Sherlock's part, a way to keep John around by creating a comfortable domesticity with a sprinkling of danger here and there where Sherlock saw fit to keep the old marriage exciting…

_Oh god._

Sherlock was using dangerous cases like an old married couple would use kinky sex to rekindle that spark. 

He really _was_ married to Sherlock.

Why didn't that shock John more? It _should_ shock the living hell out of him.

John came stomping out of the bathroom to find Sherlock still tangled in the sheets and the duvet, leaning back against the head board with John's laptop in his lap. "We're practically _married_." He jabbed his toothbrush out at Sherlock accusingly.

Sherlock looked up and opened his mouth to retort, realised he had nothing to say to that, so closed his mouth and scrunched his brow, fixing John with a look of confusion.

" _You've_ made us practically married!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak again. Then closed it just the same, still finding nothing to say.

"And what's worse, you're using dangerous criminals like couples would role play!"

Yeah, Sherlock was completely lost.

"You've managed to create a relationship between you and me and I didn't even _know about it!_ I just went along for the ride thinking, 'Yeah, this is a little bit weird and different from the things you do with your other mates, but Sherlock's not like any of your other mates so of course there are going to be some differences in what's considered the social norm.' But _no!_ It shouldn't have been _that_ different. You managed to make me take on the responsibilities of the wife but kept me completely unaware of it by letting me run around with my gun and shoot a couple criminals to reinforce my masculinity, blinding me to the fact that I cook, clean, get the groceries, stop toxic mould cultures from trying to take over Baker Street, make sure you eat _and_ get at least a little bit of sleep…" John took a big breath, trying to calm himself down a bit but failed utterly. "You _married_ us and didn't even have the decency to let me _know_."

Right, this was Sherlock's cue to say something. Something that conveyed how sorry he was that he had accidentally married John without even _knowing_ he had done that himself. "If it's about the lack of rings, that can easily be arranged." 

Or he could rark John up a little bit more. Sherlock regretted it instantly of course, but what was done was done.

John threw his toothbrush at Sherlock's head, getting unreasonably annoyed when Sherlock blocked the incoming projectile with a raise of his forearms.

Lowering his arms, Sherlock smiled at John. "I'm sorry. I didn't even know that I had married us. It wasn't intentional." He watched as John visibly calmed down a bit. "What even brought our accidental marriage up?

John huffed angrily, sitting down on the end of the bed, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. He might as well tell Sherlock. "I was thinking that if we were going to go through with this case after Monday that it wouldn't be an awful idea to actually start…dating. But not dating in the normal sense, something that would fit us more, you know, but taking our…" John was going to say relationship, but that just didn't sound right, "partnership- to the next level."

"Well it's not the worst idea you've ever had."

John glared at Sherlock. "But then I realised that we were already practically dating because you had married us. And that's when I came out of the bathroom and yelled at you."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a second before he spoke. "I'm not easy to date. If you think living with me is bad then just wait until we are _actually_ in a relationship together. You can forget about any form of personal space. I take the term 'What's yours is mine' quite literally. "

"It can't be any worse than eyeballs in the microwave and every mug being compromised to your mould cultures."

"…Would you be offended if I asked to think about it?"

"I'd be insulted if you didn't." John smiled at Sherlock, getting a small one in return before heading upstairs to get changed. He really was going to have to move more of his stuff downstairs into Sherlock's room, if only for convenience.

\-------------------------------

"Oh you absolute _legend._ " John beamed as he stepped out of the cab. He left Sherlock behind to pay the fare and went jogging to stand beside Carlisle.

Sherlock paid the cabbie, getting out of the car only to look up and see two blonde men with blue eyes standing side by side in the same hideous, oatmeal, cable-knit jumper.

Well _that_ explained why John was so insistent on wearing the same jumper from yesterday again.

"This _proves_ that my jumpers are actually quite stylish." John beamed at Sherlock, arms crossed proudly across his chest.

"This proves that blonde, blue eyed, middle aged men of below average height all have the same terrible taste in knit wear. That's what _this_ ," Sherlock gestured to the two of them, "proves." It seemed Sherlock's reasoning went unheard though as Carlisle swiped them into the building. 

And it didn't go unnoticed by Carlisle that Sherlock made sure that John was between himself and Sherlock. Not liking that he had to be here then. Noted.

\----------------------------

"So, because it's Friday and yesterday was…revelatory, I've brought you here to pretty much give you homework for the weekend. I'm also at your disposal if there is anything you want to talk about or discuss. Oh, and I also have gifts." Carlisle smiled as he walked over to the couch, gesturing for Sherlock and John to take a seat as he went and sat on the chair opposite them. "Go ahead, open them." The tone of voice and look on Carlisle's face gave off the sense that he was talking about Christmas, not something potentially sexually related.

John and Sherlock looked at each other warily. John apparently had the bigger metaphorical balls between them, so he was the one to reach forward and lift the lid off the first of the three boxes. "… It's lube. Lots and lots of lube. Somebody took the old saying of _'you can never have too much lube'_ to heart."

"Right you are!" Carlisle ignored John's quip. "You'll need it all for this weekend." 

Sherlock looked panicked as John mouthed "All of it?!"

"Next one." Carlisle looked between the remaining boxes and Sherlock pointedly.

Sherlock _really_ didn't want to open the next box, but if he hesitated for too long, then John would think there was something wrong and mother hen him and _that_ wasn't something he wanted at to deal with.

Gingerly, as if it was loaded with explosives, Sherlock opened the second box. " _What_ are these?"

John leant forward to look inside the box then promptly turned a deep shade of red, leaning back into his seat mildly mortified.

"And that's why you'll need the lube." Carlisle smiled innocently. 

Sherlock picked one of them up slowly, turning it this way and that to examine how the light hit every surface of the item. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tried again. 

"…This goes up a man's anus, doesn't it?"

"Men, women, and everything in between." Carlisle beamed.

Sherlock put the glass butt plug back in its box of brothers of various sizes just as slowly.

"And the last one's only if you want to, no pressure." Opening the last box himself, Carlisle tilted it forward to show the men what they could be looking forward too. Four different vibrators were nestled proudly in the box. "Could be interesting."

 _'Could be dangerous'_ John thought.

"… These are meant to go up _my_ anus, aren't they." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Sherlock figured he should have been prepared for something like this, yet he found himself not so pleasantly surprised.

"Yup. And John's going to be the one to put them there! Exciting, right?" Carlisle was practically bouncing in his chair with excitement. "You guys get to go home and play with these all weekend. Start small and work your way up to whatever you can handle. No pressure, entirely up to you two how fast and far you go, just as long as _something_ makes its way inside or sweet detective's rear end. Oh," Carlisle reached under the table between them and placed a paper bag on top of it next to the open boxes. "And this, you'll be needing this too. But don't open it until you get home. Surprise yourselves a bit."

Sherlock and John were stuck looking at the boxes of sex toys on the table. Frozen by phallic sexual aids, lubricant, and whatever was in that mystery bag.

Carlisle broke the tense silence.

"So how were things when you got home last night?"

Sherlock was silent.

John realised that his flatmate was going to let him decided on how to address what happened last night. And oh the choices John had. He could tell Carlisle about how Sherlock had broken down last night. How John hadn't been able to physically comfort a sobbing Sherlock due to the stress that a bit of rope and a hand job had caused. Or, he could tell Carlisle a half truth.

"Things weren't easy." John began. "Sherlock was a bit emotionally sensitive but we managed to work things out in the end, calm him down a bit."

It appeared as if Carlisle was taking the lie.

"I'm a bit worried." John continued. "A lot worried, actually. I'm- scared, that if we keep doing this, if Sherlock ends every night getting so wound up, that he may begin to change for the worse."

"Explain." Carlisle queried without any bite, encouraging John to continue at his own pace.

It took John a little moment to phrase his next words in a way that conveyed his concerns but didn't give away just how serious the situation was. He wasn't even entirely sure why he wasn't telling Carlisle everything. "If you put stress on something constantly it begins to weaken. And over time, going through that same stress every day will make it weaker and weaker, then one day, it’ll just break. I'm afraid… terrified, even… that all of this," John gestured at the objects contained, for now, in the boxes in front of him. "All of this will end up breaking Sherlock. Not physically. But mentally and emotionally."

Carlisle turned to Sherlock. "And what are your thoughts on this?"

Sherlock spoke his answer to the butt plugs. "I trust in John completely. I trust him to end anything and everything well before the irreversible point approaches."

"So then you agree that you are being weakened with all of this." It wasn't a question. The answer was obvious to all three of them in the room. So Carlisle didn't phrase it as such. No need to waste formalities.

"People are in danger. People are missing. People are possibly dead. If a bit of public physical intimacy will stop all of it, then I will find a way to endure."

Carlisle let out a massive sigh, leaning back into his chair and looking up at the ceiling. "I would _never_ have let _either_ of you two into my club, just so you know. John, you're not cut out for this lifestyle. The idea of Dominance or submission in all of its fantastically kinky forms just doesn't appeal to you. So if you had come to me asking for entrance to my clubs, I would have said no and given you a Kama Sutra book to enhance your perfectly fine sex life. And Sherlock, you cannot emotionally, or mentally get into a mindset where _any_ of this would not only appeal to you, but bring you any form of pleasure. A couple of the physical aspects might peek your curiosity enough to try them in a non-domineering way, but the things I can see capturing your interest are few and far between. This is torture for you. Plain and simple. So if you had come to me asking for entrance to my clubs, I would have sent you to a very, _very_ good psychiatrist." Carlisle let his gaze fall back down onto the men in front of him. "I'm trying to make the things I'm teaching you here purely physical. I'm keeping the lifestyle out of it because not only would it not suit either of you, you wouldn't understand it.

"I'm not teaching you, John, about how to get Sherlock to truly _submit_ to you. Mind, body, and soul. I'm not teaching you, Sherlock, to derive pleasure from pleasing John. The things I am teaching you go nowhere beyond the physical. It may not feel like it some of the time, but what you two do in regards to this case is not BDSM. It's an imitation of it. When you go out into my club, when you perform in front of others, that's all you will be doing. Performing. But you'll have to make it _look_ real. I'll get you used to the physicality of it all, then we will work on making it look like you two live and breathe the lifestyle." Carlisle sat up properly then, gesturing once more to the gifts on the table. "But enough of the serious stuff. For now, you'll go home. You'll use what's in the bag. And for tonight, John, you'll open Sherlock up with your fingers. Get to know that area of his body quite intimately. From now on you'll need to do so at least twice a week to accustom Sherlock to having things inserted into his anus. The more you do so the less uncomfortable it will be for him. Then tomorrow and the day after you'll play with the plugs and the vibrators if you think you've gotten to that point. Should you need any help or guidance, please, _please_ , feel free to call me. I don't want you two thinking you have to do this alone. Otherwise," Carlisle clapped his hands together with a smile. "We are done here gentlemen. See you both Monday."

\-------------------------------

To say the cab ride was awkward was an understatement. John was perpetually worried about the boxes in their arms opening up and spilling their kinky contents all over the back of the cab.

That, and the fact that Sherlock and John didn't even attempt to meet each other’s eyes.

On the bright side, Carlisle had prepaid the fare again. Silver lining and all. 

\-------------------------------

John climbed the stairs ahead of Sherlock, the box of lubricant and the mystery bag in his arms, leaving Sherlock with the box of phallic goodies and the box with what was surely an excessive amount of plugs, even for Carlisle’s enthusiasm. 

Unlocking the door to their flat John stepped inside, walking over to the table and putting the bag and box he was carrying on top of it.

Sherlock followed suit and placed the boxes he was carrying beside the others. John looked down and thought about what was in those boxes and cringed at what they were about to do for the whole weekend.

Looking towards Sherlock made something within John die a bit. Sherlock's shoulders were slumped low, his back remotely hunched as he stared emptily down at the boxes and mystery bag on top of their coffee table. "How do I make this as tolerable for you as I can?"

"Just don't make it sexual." Sherlock, gaze still on the boxes, smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Right. Remove the sexuality from sexual activities. I can do that. Easy."

Sherlock chuffed a laugh, more a release of surprised air than mirth. He opened the box that contained the lubricants and picked up the first one his hand came into contact with. It was an unflavoured water based lubricant. Looking back into the box he saw various tubes of flavoured lube and thanked whoever was watching over him that he picked up the unsexiest lube in the box. The lubricant that had glitter in it claiming to taste of strawberry champagne made him grip the unflavoured lube in his palm even more gratefully. "He said we'd need to use whatever was in that bag."

John had watched Sherlock the entire time, only now letting his gaze shift to the mystery bag. "I have a feeling I know what's in there."

"Will I like it?"

"Definitely not."

"Brilliant."

\----------------------------

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom with his insides feeling _thoroughly_ violated.

Enemas were **not** fun.

"You'll appreciate it in the long run." John tried to make things better, but it seemed very little in the world would improve Sherlock's mood. Maybe a nice murder, but they didn't have time for that right now. "In removing all sexuality from the situation, how would you like to do this? With your pyjamas on or without? You could even leave your top on and be bare from the waist down, whatever works best for you."

"Pants off top on." Sherlock decided, moving to take his pants off, chucking them across the room. The top he wore to bed was long and well worn, extending just past the lowest curve of his buttocks.

"Now do you want me to wear a latex glove?"

"I'm _clean_ , in both senses," Sherlock emphasised the word with a nasty little inclination, "I don't see why you need to wear a glove."

"Just checking with your preferences." John smiled, putting the pair of surgical gloves he had brought in with him whilst Sherlock was cleaning himself out onto the bedside table.

Sherlock looked at the bed, not knowing what position he was meant to be in for this.

John saw Sherlock's pause of action and offered him options. "You can either be on you back with your knees up or on all fours. Whatever you feel more comfortable with."

"On my back." Sherlock said, moving into position. "I don't trust my limbs in supporting me and am not currently fond of the vulnerability that being on my hands and knees brings."

"Fair enough." John looked away from Sherlock to apply lubricant onto the first two fingers of his left hand. "Let me know if this becomes too much and I'll stop right away, Sherlock. Just give the word."

"Yes, yes. Just get on with it."

"Alright." John just had to remove all sexuality from this. He just had to make fingering your best friend a very _not_ sexual thing. John moved his left hand between Sherlock's thighs. "Lift your legs up and hold your knees against your chest."

Sherlock did as he was told, looking away when the position left him completely exposed to John. His eyes squeezed closed when he felt a slick, cool finger massaging unflavoured water based lubricant onto and around his arsehole. He scrunched his brow and tried to think of something else. _Anything_ else.

"What was the last thing you ate?"

Sherlock opened his eyes at that completely random question. "What does that have to do with _this?_ "

"Just answer the question."

Sherlock thought for a bit, that circling finger making it harder to think. Every time it swiped over the centre of his arsehole whatever train of thought he had would dash. The moment he recalled what he had last eaten he all but shouted his answer in case it vanished once more. "The biscuits you gave me with the tea this morning."

"Seriously, Sherlock? You really need to eat more."

"Eating more wouldn't help me in this situation. If anything, it would only make things wor- AH!" 

John had waited for just the right moment, when Sherlock was busy arguing and his body had relaxed enough for him to slide his index finger inside to the second knuckle. Sherlock clenched tight around John's finger, muscles tensing in a rhythm of removal. "Stop trying to push me out, Sherlock. Just breathe and tell me the periodic elements."

"That was low, John, even for you." Sherlock let his fingers uncurl from their death grip behind his knees, his feet coming to rest on the bed either side of John.

"Oh come off it. It had to happen eventually, so I saw my moment and took it. Now tell me the periodic elements."

Sherlock glared, "Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium. Boron. Carbon. Nitrogen. Oxygen. Flour-" The word died on Sherlock's tongue as John withdrew his finger and pushed in back inside casually. "Fluorine. Neon. Sodium. Magnesium." In and out again. "Aluminium. Silicon. Phosphorous." John set up a steady rhythm, and Sherlock ignored him to the best of his ability, focusing on the elements he knew better than the streets of London. "Sulphur. Chlorine. Argon. Potassium. Calcium. Scandium. Titanium. Vanadium. Chromium. Manganese. Iron. Cobalt. Nickel. Copper. Zinc…"

John watched as Sherlock didn't realise that he was relaxing, his legs easing down at a glacial pace until the soles of his feet came into contact with the duvet and his knees fell open slightly, baring himself to John.

Grabbing the lube with his free hand, John squeezed out a bit more slick onto his finger, pushing the additional lubricant into Sherlock. Testing the waters a bit, John placed the tip of his right index finger against where his left one was disappearing within his flatmate. When Sherlock merely twitched around the finger currently within him, John took that as a sign that he could safely proceed, the baritone elements sounding in the background. 

Withdrawing his right hand, John pulled his index finger completely out and carefully applied the pressure of two fingers against Sherlock's arsehole. It was a bit tight, but gave enough to let John get up the first two knuckles within Sherlock. The detective was much calmer than when they had begun from having repeatedly said the periodic table out loud, so that the only reaction John got was a slight tensing and raising of pale thighs and Sherlock stuttering on "Protactinium".

So far, so good.

Wanting to ease the way as much as possible and not worrying about running out of the stuff any time soon, John applied a bit more lube and began to ease his fingers into Sherlock with short pulses of his wrist. Bit by bit, John was opening Sherlock up.

He'd managed to just get over the second knuckle when Sherlock stopped reciting the elements and clenched down on John's fingers hard. "Hey, hey, hey, keep telling me the periodic elements."

Sherlock didn't respond, instead he looked down his body, past his flaccid penis to where John's left hand disappeared behind his balls. "Oh god."

Usually in a situation like this John would be more than happy to hear his partner mutter _'Oh god.'_ That generally meant that he was doing something very right and that he should keep on doing whatever it was he had done to incite an utterance to a higher power from his partner's lips. But hearing the way Sherlock uttered those two little words brought nothing but fear into the pit of John's stomach.

"Take deep breaths, Sherlock." John couldn't figure out what had brought Sherlock out of his near trance. He had been going slow. He had been _careful._

"Oh _god_." Sherlock clenched down on the intrusion within him as hard as he could, trying to expel it from his body.

"Sherlock," John placed his right hand on Sherlock's ribs, just below his pectoral to get the man's attention. "Sherlock I need you to take deep breaths for me. It will help you calm down."

Sherlock sought reassurance in John's calm and level gaze, locking eyes and mimicking the deep inhalations and long exhales that John cycled through. But it wasn't calming him down like it should have, he _couldn't_ calm down. This was different than John's hand on his cock, external stimulation was _completely different_ to internal stimulation.

"Sherlock."

External stimulation could be ignored to a certain degree. Sherlock could focus on the unwanted pleasure wrought from external stimulation, and attempt to ignore the physical touch to the best of his abilities.

"Sherlock?"

But _internal_ stimulation could not be so easily ignored. Because it was happening _inside of him._ Somebody was touching him _internally_ in places that were just not meant to be _touched_ let alone coaxed into lethargy at the prospect of putting something _larger within him._

"Sherlock you need to calm down." 

Sherlock began closing his legs around whoever was between them, wanting to expel them from what should be such an untouchable place.

"Shit, Sherlock. I have to do this. _We_ have to do this. You just need to _calm down._ "

Sherlock brought his hands down to grip forcefully onto the wrist of the hand that still held two fingers within him. He wanted this person _out._

"I don't know how to calm you down, Sherlock. Tell me what I need to do to make you _relax._ "

Sherlock's breaths became shallow and rabbit quick. Despite his rather polite insistence that this person get their fingers out of him _now_ the stranger remained stubborn and unmoving. _Fine._ He wouldn't be polite about this then. Sherlock bit his fingernails in deep to the wrist that wouldn't budge despite his best efforts to convince this person otherwise.

_"As I walked out on the streets of Laredo,"_

Sherlock's breaths became deeper and slower fractionally. Good. This meant that he had more brain power to _repel_ this intruder from his body.

_"As I walked out on Laredo one day,"_

His unmoveable grip on the man's wrist relaxed a fraction, Sherlock's nails no longer trying to shred the epidermis from the man's arm.

_"I spied a young cowboy, all wrapped in white linen,"_

When the hell did John ever 'spy a young cowboy'? Sherlock felt the tension ease from his overstrained thighs, feet sliding down the sheets to loosely cradle John between them instead of trying to squeeze his innards out.

_"All wrapped in white linen, and cold as the clay."_

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed tight, feeling the moisture that began clumping his lashes together. He tried to say John's name, but the word came out voiceless, somehow making everything that much more pathetic. His quadriceps began tightening again, pressing in against the man's sides unyieldingly. 

_"So beat the drums slowly, and play the fife lowly,"_

Sherlock felt the man take one of Sherlock's hands from around the wrist that was connected to the fingers _still_ within him, and placed it over than man's sternum. Sherlock felt a heart beat beneath the palm of his hand. It sped up on the man's intake of breath and slowed down when the man exhaled. Additionally, the heart beat had a tiny murmur that boasted that Sherlock would never be able to find a constant pattern to John's heartbeat. _John._

_"For I’m a young cowboy, and I know I’ve done wrong."_

"Again, John." Sherlock begged. _"Again."_

So John repeated the lullaby.

He repeated it over and over and over and _over_ , humming the tune after the third time.

John waited until Sherlock relaxed entirely into the sheets. Waited until Sherlock's breaths were deep and expanded his abdominal cavity fully. Waited until Sherlock met his gaze and nodded with lips that were trying to smile but just couldn't quite manage it.

As John resumed his slow pace, he became aware of the fact that there wasn't a clock in Sherlock's room. Nothing on the walls and no alarms by his bed. He supposed Sherlock's internal clock was just _that_ good. That or he could just check his phone, which was either always beside him or within John's reach. But he was grateful for the lack of readable time. It meant that the only things that mattered were just John and Sherlock here together for as long as they needed.

And John took his sweet time. There was no need to rush this. His humming of the lullaby had slowed down, his breaths deep to silently encourage Sherlock to keep doing so as he filled his lungs completely, releasing his hold on the used breath in a long, slow hum. 

Sherlock moved his left hand until it rested over John's right, closing his eyes and letting John's voice ground him and keep him calm.

"That's been two fingers entirely for a while now, Sherlock."

John's voice broke through the calm, Sherlock nodding in acknowledgment.

"Do you want me to keep going?"

Sherlock let his head fall languidly from side to side, this was enough; they had done what Carlisle had told them too.

"Alright."

Once John's fingers had completely withdrawn Sherlock felt strangely bare inside. Not empty, just… bare. He could hear John bustling about around him, picking things up, putting things down. 

Sherlock let his head fall to the left to look at the neatly made bed he was currently lying on. For all the debris that cluttered their flat Sherlock made it a habit to keep his bedroom within a respectable working order. Filled it with calming things for when their sitting room just became too loud and he needed to make a quick escape without actually leaving their flat. And he made his bed too. He knew all about what kind of things lurked in an unkempt bed and that thought had always disturbed him, so his sheets were changed every week on a Tuesday. But he hadn't made his bed this morning. John had. Sherlock bet his skull that John had made it with military precision too.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Sherlock pulled the duvet back to see the sheets pulled tightly and no doubt tucked in securely. He could get used to somebody making his bed for him.

"I've got a warm face cloth here, Sherlock. Do you want to clean yourself up, or shall I?"

Sherlock flicked his wrist for John to get on with it. John gently wiped away all of the excess lube that he could, staying a bit longer between Sherlock's thighs than was strictly necessary. Probably just checking for any damage or irritation. He left Sherlock soon after though, and the lack of a crease between his eyebrows as he frowned suggested that nothing was wrong with Sherlock's arsehole. Peachy.

A clean pair of jockeys and his pyjama pants hit Sherlock's chest, the detective taking the hint and pulling his garments on as he watched John get changed into what he had worn to bed the night before. Sherlock got under the covers gracelessly, leaving a bit of leeway for his mildly tender behind, mind you.

John followed suit after turning the lights out, Sherlock instantly enveloping him like a big spoon would a little. His hands snuck up John's top to rest over his flatmate’s breastbone, John yelping and making an idle fuss about Sherlock's cold hands.

Sherlock wasn't going to sleep any time soon, John on the other hand fell asleep the moment he stopped mentally fussing about Sherlock's wellbeing.

Buring his nose in the hair at the base of John's skull, Sherlock thought about the question John had asked him today. They kind of _were_ married, weren't they?

He needed to work harder on his emotional disguise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this then please **KUDOS** and if you _really_ liked this then please **COMMENT**. I lobve hearing back from you guys and what you think. 
> 
> Stay lovely like a tranced out Sherlock until next time xoxoxoxoxo

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I very very VERY much want feedback on this bad boy. So, if you liked it please KUDOS and if you _really_ liked it please COMMENT!!!!! Thank you so much for reading this, especially if you have already read 'Slave Speak'. I hope you all stay with me on this journey and I can't wait to hear from you all!!! CRITQUE IS BEYOND WELCOME!!! If you have something you want to say that you think may help in making this better THEN I FUCKING WANT TO HEAR IT!!!!! Let's make this amazing together!!!!!  
>  AND I LOVE YOU LNEIBLE!!!! TELL HER YOU LOVE HER TOO!!!!! This wouldn't have been possible without all f her amazing help!!!!!


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